


The Virtue of Decadence

by Peter_Yellowhammer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Appreciation, Brief Grossness, Emotional Baggage, Falling In Love, Humiliation, Illness and Medicine, Intimacy, M/M, Madeleine Era, Massages, Pampering, Perversion, Sexual Content, Sexual Liberation, Some hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter_Yellowhammer/pseuds/Peter_Yellowhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a week of struggling with a very inconveniently placed infection, Javert finally caves and meets with the mayor to enlist special medical assistance. Jean Valjean is confused, yet happy to help. But it also provides him an opportunity. Valjean decides that Javert needs a better idea of why people seek out kindness, or rather, pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Three things.
> 
> One, it gets gross before it gets sexy. Two, there's a Dharma and Greg joke I stole for chapter one. Bonus points if you get it.
> 
> Three...let's just say the illness portrayed here is inspired by a true story. I'm still wearing the bandages from the surgery.

The Inspector with only one name had to walk very specifically up to the mairie at six in the evening, upon December the 3rd in the year 1822. He had to walk as if the underside of his torso did not exist, unless he wanted more blood to splotch his already stained underpants. It would be a daunting task for a normal, upstanding member of society: people would ask him if anything was wrong, thus ruining the covert operation. For Javert, it instead entailed the task of ignoring the undoubtedly gossip-summoning looks that the 'ordinary folk' of Montreuil were giving him. Let them talk; they weren't his concern anymore. But aside from this, he had no issue arriving at the manor. However, Javert _did_ find himself wishing that he had taken some laudanum before making the trek, as the growth upon him had, true to its label, _grown_ and became capable of making him ache even from simple movements.

He had promised himself that he wouldn't check his underpants for excessive bleeding anymore. Simply looking at the mess made his body roil in the hot dizziness that haunted him periodically, and now even moving around in public threatened his equilibrium. He had planned to move straight from his apartment to the mairie, no interruptions, no breaks. Now that he had arrived, he had to steady himself with a hand upon the wall surrounding the front door.

Javert could not ignore this anymore. The possibility that he might spread this plague demanded he stay away from the station; the fact that he was in increasing pain demanded he not patrol any faster, or in any other style, than the waddle of an elderly duck; the fact that this was in such a private area deman-...yes, demanded that he not go to the hospital. His inferiors couldn't handle him being absent forever. Javert needed help, and there was only one man who could help him.

The Man of Mercy.

He privately considered scooping up some of the snow and shoving that down his uniform instead. Surely that would be _less_ embarrassing than actually going through with this. But, as it stood in reality, perhaps he would do so anyway, just to numb the pulsing pain that made him search for very creative (and attention-gathering) ways to sit down and stand up. Oh, if only illnesses were like criminals! Just pluck them off and toss them into cells! But no...it was now or never, and never was not an option.

By the stars, this was to be a fresh hell in unfathomable proportions. But at least he was dressed for it.

\--------------------------------

Madeleine le Maire was running behind on a revision to the hospital staff training program. He had previously axed the notion of expanding the building for now, deciding that quality of care was a larger issue to tackle at this point in time. The Sisters were reasonable when it came to appropriate techniques, if not in how to regard the fates of the patients, so it seemed a worthwhile ambition. Perhaps this way, he could get the hospital squared away in enough time to pull the well purity problem to the front of his agenda _at last._ The townsfolk would never forgive him if he left that until Springtime. Well, actually, they might. It was hard to tell with them, sometimes.

Madeleine sighed as he crossed out yet another poor insight in the hospital plan. Where was Victor? How long did it take to put bags of money onto a carriage?

“Monsieur, just finished sending off the tax!”, said the lad of the hour, startling the mayor into dragging the pen over the wood of the desk. Would it have killed the boy to knock?! Or...was he just _that_ focused for his writing? Now that was an amusing thought! “Oh, no! I'm sorry, I thought you heard me walk in! Oh, that's terrible...b-but anyway, Monsieur le Maire, the Inspector is here to see you.”

Really? So soon?

“I should have known that 'brief respite' would be true to the words.”

“Monsieur?”, interjected Victor. “I thought you said it was to be 'too good to be true'.”

With a chuckle, Madeleine replied: “That as well, dear boy. Send him in.”

Eugh...what now? Javert probably wished to reinstate himself after all: what a shame. He was enjoying the way the interim Chief Inspector delivered reports to him: inflection and storytelling and hints of emotional depth. Javert, loving to speak in one flat drone, had all the relatability of an abacus in this regard. As for relatability in any other regards...well, Madeleine was sure that was a mystery that would never be solved.

Hmm...Javert. What _did_ make him take time off police work, anyway? If the workaholic were ill, Madeleine imagined that Javert would find a way to patrol and write reports from the safe distance of his apartment complex, or perhaps just ignore it altogether. Javert himself said that maintaining the peace of the town demanded 'vigilance beyond the complacence of comfort'. Well, what was wrong with comfort, in truth? Reviewing this gave no promising lead...the whole affair smelled of something surreptitious.

...No. He wouldn't. He couldn't have found proof of Valjean...! That wasn't possible, and Madeleine had him fooled besides! Not unless...not unless that visiting lawyer from the other day recognized him?! The Savoyard witness! Cold sweat already ran carelessly down his scarred back. He _knew_ something about that man's gaze wasn't right! 'The utmost brotherhood between the magistrates and the barristers', pfft! as if that meant anything worthwhile or sincere. That condescending little fop was to be the death of him, all for a baguette and a window pane! Oh sweet Mary and Joseph, he could already hear the carriage for the bagne coming in his mind. Clopping hooves and rattling chains to send him off to the eternal sleep. Jean had to blink back tears...and swallow his growing rage.

Today was his last day as a free man? All the signs pointed to it. Javert would point to it too, wouldn't he? Today...Jean's world was shrinking down too quickly, too cruelly, focused into one dark blue spot that waddled into view from the side of the room. His stomach knotted, but Jean Valjean had to at least face the truth with some appearance of the mayor—wait.

Waddling?

Madeleine's stomach reasserted its prior shape as he took a deep breath. He had to roll his eyes at his own behavior. 'All the signs pointed to it', what nonsense was that? Honestly, Madeleine suspected he was torturing himself with those thoughts out of boredom. But a waddling Javert was not boring. What on earth could compel the man to parambulate so clumsily?

“Inspector Javert,” greeted Madeleine with the standard smile. “What brings you here today on your respite? Come, take a seat.”

Madeleine saw Javert immediately glance to the exit, as if planning to flee. Oh, this was going to be good. Anytime the fearless Inspector was anxious about...actually, he had never seen the Inspector anxious about anything. Eyes darting, hat in hands, hands fidgeting with hat, stock slightly undone, lips parted for mouth breathing, sweat shining off the face: all of this was part of Anxious Javert. This...this was new. This was an entirely new side of Javert. Oh, dear.

Javert did not sit down.

“...Is everything alright, Javert?”

“M-Monsieur le Maire, sir,” said Javert with unnecessary formality, making a lightning fast bow and...wincing as he got back up? Oh, _no_ , Javert _was_ sick, wasn't he? Poor fellow: former Toulon guard or not, illness affected all men the same. The Bishop would say so, and so that was what he said to himself. But still, the man was sick and breathing Madeleine's air! “I have come here this evening with a...with an unusual request, if I may, monsieur.”

There was no point in contemplating the maybe's and the what-if's anymore. Strictly questions and answers, or Madeleine would just confuse himself.

“Oh? What request is this?”

“I...that is, monsieur....um...”

“That is indeed an unusual request,” Madeleine teased. “I can't say I know how to fulfill it.”

Javert immediately flushed with anger and embarrassment: it was so deliciously obvious. Haha! That was what the man deserved for spreading illness in Madeleine's house! It was a good thing that he sent the portress on holiday, and Victor would be leaving soon as the winter cessation of activity began. This would make it easier to purify the house. After this 'request' of the Inspector's, he would send the man to the hospital and it would be done.

“I have developed an illness that I have not encountered before,” continued Javert as he seemingly regained self-control. “I would go to a town doctor or the hospital for it, except...”, Javert paused as the flush started to return, but leaning more toward embarrassment this time, “the site of the disease is in a very specific area. I-I would like to request that you...that you send for a specialist. I will pay, of course, but I need your connections, Monsieur le Maire. Four months ago, you said that your trip to Paris put you in contact with several medical professionals for the wealthy from the...Pharaoh's Tomb club, yes? If one of them is able, I would like their expertise. And I'll say it again, I'll pay for it.”

That _was_ an unusual request, but mostly because of the person making it. Javert, wanting a specialist doctor of all things? Javert, showing interest in any of the magistrate's non-domestic dealings? Javert, _referring to disease locations, voluntarily?_ None of this would matter for any sensible person, but this was not a sensible person before him (not for matters such as this, if nothing else). This was not as simple as Javert being paranoid about a disease that the doctor living next to him couldn't diagnose...hmm. Unless the man were simply delirious from fever. Jean felt himself going over to check the man's forehead but stopped as soon as it started: he wasn't wearing any gloves. This new Germ Theory of disease made things complicated.

As for the Pharaoh's Tomb, the pinnacle of leisure in Paris...he hadn't thought of it this week. The good people there had changed his life forever, and he was forcing them out of his mind. Complacency already, after the staff had taught him so much! That simply would not do. Still, the issue of the hour was Javert, not Valjean. Madeleine knew, like any well-informed gentleman, that their medical team was talented enough to handle almost any medical curiosity. But all the same, he knew what any peasant knew: there was no way on God's green earth that Javert could supply the francs for the expense. Madeleine already knew that Javert wasn't going to take this as an act of mercy, so...how exactly did the Inspector intend to 'pay for it', then?

But Madeleine would give Javert his doctor; that was a given. As for what else would be provided...hmm. Oh, dear Lord. Light filled Madeleine's brain with splendid wisdom, flowing down into his chest and belly as if to cleanse them of sin. This was it. Javert was the one Madeleine would _use!_ It was perfect! And to break down the animosity between them...This was _meant to be._ All the evading, all the platitudes and fake smiling, all the irritating arguments against the virtue of charity, all the nightmares of being dragged to that hellmouth with the entire town spitting upon him all the while; now it would end with Madeleine demonstrating what he had learned from the best of the best. The Pharaoh's Tomb staff would be proud of him yet! He was euphoric; he had to keep himself from beaming as he continued the question and answer session.

“Have you gotten any opinions on it so far? This disease, that is.”

Javert's entire head was beet red.

“No.” Oh Good Lord, Javert! Madeleine's rush of joy was instantly choked at the thought of his Chief Inspector evading his doctor-neighbor out of shyness. “I...monsieur, this is how I want this to happen. Yes, I know this makes things more difficult for myself. But...”

Madeleine's pulse quickened at how desperate Javert looked in this moment. This was getting scary: why didn't Javert just say what he really wanted to say? It certainly seemed that he was building up to a selling point for the request.

“ _Please,_ Monsieur le Maire. I don't want pity, I will pay you back in full, but _please_ understand me. This is becoming unbearable. I need your help.”

Javert begged. That happened in front of Madeleine, while he was awake, with no cock dangled in front of his mouth.

“Dear God, man, what kind of disease is this?!” Victor came back in at that time, and Javert looked ready to shrink into his uniform upon seeing Madeleine's personal assistant listening to the conversation. Words were flying out of the man's mouth before Madeleine interrupted: “No, no, don't try to stutter your way out of this. You could have seen a doctor and done this in the privacy of a medical office, but you came to me instead. If you want _me_ to help, then you need to tell _me_ everything you know. What 'area' is this illness housed that has you flustered to the point of _begging?_ ”

A long, very uncomfortable silence followed. Victor looked as if he could not decide whether to do his job or to let the tension ripple through him. Javert looked genuinely pitiable, still flush and probably having trouble breathing under the strain. For the very first time, Madeleine genuinely felt sorry for him...the mayor could have been glib about it, but the pain was clear on the Inspector's face. He had completely forgotten about the hospital revision work by this point.

“...It's on my...my...”

“Take it easy, Inspector,” said Madeleine in the calmest voice he had.

“...My sitter-upon.”

“...Pardon?”, asked Victor. Madeleine would have asked the same.

“My sitter-upon is in a great deal of pain, Monsieur...le Maire.”

Sitter-upon? Sitter, upon. Upon a seat--!

“Oh, sit-upon! I see! Victor, go get some ice for the Inspector's ass.”

Javert fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

Prone. Javert was prone, that was the first thing he could tell as he regained his mind. He couldn't move. Couldn't he? Maybe he was being pressed down by something. Javert needed to get up, but a glove pushed him down as he unsteadily pushed up from his hands. A-ha! Something _was_ pushing him down. But that glove was shaped like a hand, far too small for the effect...Javert felt like he was being pressed down all over his back and limbs. A voice spoke softly, too soft to interpret as anything but noise. The voice of a kidnapper?! Hah, hardly! If he were being held hostage, then his hands would have been bound, which they were not. The mystery deepened. He was sinking into the soft, warm, silk blanket underneath him...sinking so sweetly, sinking away from the dizziness and into darkness.

Javert woke up again some time later. His chest felt heavy, and sweat ran lazily down his skin. His rump was in pain, but what else was new? Dull, throbbing aches that throbbed their dull ache no matter what he did...c'est la vie. He was lying on his stomach on a bed somewhere, his feet resting upon two plush pillows. Where was he? His eyes were still shut, but he suddenly felt a handkerchief being held to his nose by a gloved hand. An actual glove, not one he conjured in his mind's eye. He could tell it was gloved because one of the fingers rested on the bottom of his right nostril, which, come to think of it, must have been bruised. It had a dull ache that refused to numb upon the realization that Javert only suffered a nosebleed. His nose hurt, yes, he fell down. The infernal dizziness had finally been victorious in claiming him as soon as he heard a particularly tactless joke.

“As if you aren't bleeding enough already, you poor fellow...” The mayor's voice whispered from somewhere beyond the glove. Javert was with the mayor. Thank God: the hospital was not somewhere he wanted his bare form to be scrutinized.

He thanked all of the heavens that the mayor was insightful enough not to lay him on his back. To lay his body weight upon that growth...to shift around under said weight, even the most minute motion...he winced at the mere memory of when he tried it. Even when he gave up, he found that the, well, 'oppositional' orientation of motion for his buttocks when walking, so to speak, made the most forgettable of ticks and quirks worsen his lot. On the bright side, the pain movitated him to make his patrolling stride more perfect than ever, up until it became too intense.

Wait. Bare form. JAVERT WAS NAKED. He pulled his head off the bed to crane his neck to look behind him: he was underneath a green silk sheet that was pooled around his legs. Silk above him and below him cradled his uniformless body, with the uniform in question nowhere in sight. Who had removed his clothes?! He finally made eye contact with Madeleine, who quickly abandoned his look of amused interest in favor of a contrite one.

“I can't begin to apologize for what I said, Inspector,” said the mayor with a profound weight to his voice...and maybe a gleam in his eye. “I underestimated your strain.”

“Where are my clothes?”, Javert wasted no time in asking. “And who undressed me?”

“I asked your neighbor Doctor Nui to give an opinion on your condition,” said the mayor matter-of-factly. “Naturally, he had to remove your undergarments. But since you were running a slight fever, I thought it would be best to make you comfortable and let you sweat it out without your uniform getting dirty.”

“...You...” Javert couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the revelation. It was too much.

“Oh, yes, they're drying from the wash right now. But don't worry about them; you can stay bare or borrow some of mine, if you wish. I know we don't share the same size, but I should have a night shirt that can cover...well, I'll leave you to finish that sentence on your own. Your fever did break, thankfully! Nui applied a salve to your infection that should keep it under control until I can get you some proper antibiotics.”

“You undr...you disr—took off my...!!” This didn't happen! In the audience of a magistrate, this situation never, ever happened! Madeleine had gone completely insane; Javert had to leave.

...Anti-bi-o-tics? The hell...? Doctor Nui didn't at least bleed the wound? Hah! All the more reason why some run-of-the-mill quack of a doctor wasn't going to cut it!

“Javert,” interrupted Madeleine in a grave tone, “don't read anything into it. You needed to heal without your clothes getting in the way, so they had to be removed. There is no need to twist this into some charity versus autonomy argument. Even if you did, I would win because you would have done the same if you were conscious.”

Javert had to blink to reassert his lucidity. He hadn't even considered that. B-but that was because HE WAS NAKED IN THE MAYOR'S HOUSE.

“...I won't argue with you, Monsieur le Maire,” Mostly because he needed to stay focused on the more important conflict, “but I must demand that I get something to wear. And then I will return home. I apologize for compelling you to do something so... _improper._ ”

“Applying medicine is improper? Since when?”

“...That's not what I--”

“I take it you don't usually get sick. Propriety has absolutely nothing to do with it. I told you not to read into this, and you did it anyway! Impossible man.”

“...”

“Although, I have to admit how _that_ angle never crossed my mind. A naked police spy and a crude joke in the span of a few hours! You know, if you had _told_ me you were losing blood, then I would have stayed my tongue and put you to rest much sooner. This whole affair has me frazzled, Inspector!”

The room fell silent at the remark. Javert felt his face growing flush again. He should never have burdened the mayor with something so frivolous. He was about to apologize for the trouble he caused when:

“I'm sorry for all this trouble, Javert. I suppose...since the stay at that leisure club, I have truly changed, in ways that I didn't anticipate." Javert knew what he really meant: the mayor had discovered who he truly was. "I should have handled this more professionally. I can do nothing at this point but make amends for it as you recover.”

Leisure...yet another thing that separated the two of them. But it was good. Enough of lifting up carts and giving alms to people who were undeserving of such 'kindness'. Whether he started as a peasant or not, the pursuit of pleasure suited the gentleman much finer.

“...It is no trouble,” stated Javert, which was true. For instance, the terrible joke was only one stimulus among many to pour that sickening heat over his body. “I suppose my strain, as you put it, was startling to witness for you. Although, I must admit that I find it unbecoming for a mayor to speak so crudely.” Madeleine said nothing to the last remark. Javert had the feeling that Madeleine was going to let his apology cover the 'crude' aspect of what he said as well...if the surprisingly childish man even felt sorry for that.

Javert faintly registered a young man snickering somewhere, as if behind a door. He felt the silk tickle his backside. This was getting worse and worse. He snorted past the bloody handkerchief, taking it into his own hand. Madeleine looked a little offended, but it was hardly worth the man's attention to fuss over a bloody nose of all things. It wasn't worth the mayor's time to fuss over _him._ As soon as he got his hands on some clothes, he was going home.

“Victor, I hope you're giggling with the warm water I told you to fetch. Anyway, Inspector, you were unconscious for three hours or so,” supplied the mayor without being asked. “I was going to take you to the hospital, but they're actually overburdened at the moment. Since you didn't want to go there anyway, you'll have to settle with what I've arranged. This is one of the guest rooms in my home, where you'll be staying until you are no longer contagious. In other words, yes, you are contagious, if you were wondering. Hence the gloves.”

“That won't be necessary,” Javert hurriedly retorted. “K-Keeping me here, I mean, not the gloves. I am respons--”

“The Pharaoh's Tomb medics should be here in four days,” interrupted the mayor. “You didn't make it clear what you meant by 'a specialist', so I commissioned the whole team to be on the safe side. I suspect that you wanted to just wait for the expert, but...I've seen it, and we needed an opinion _now,_ so that's why I called Nui over here _._ He said your boil looks like an ingrown hair that became infected, but he wasn't certain of the disease in particular. So I guess you were wise in asking for a doctor with more training. Now, before you insist on leaving _,_ know that _the answer is no._ I will not allow anyone else to become sick with whatever it's got festering in there. I trust you, but I don't trust your bottom.”

Javert closed his eyes. Words failed him. All he felt sane enough to interpret was that the mayor was prepared to be just as stubborn as he felt. No matter: he would sneak out in the night if he had to do so. The rest of it washed over him as aural nonsense.

“I asked him to drain the boil, but he says it would be better to wait for the specialists' opinions on the infection first. Since he must have decided it was okay to do so, I am supposing you came to me before it got too bad. Still...I do not envy you in the slightest, getting it there of all places. Goodness gracious me.”

_Before it got too bad? As if not being able to sit wasn't bad enough?! You trust far too easily, Monsieur le Maire._

“...”

“I am in _awe_ that you were walking _anywhere_ with blood flowing from your bottom. And in public! I would have passed out from embarrassment, let alone the shock that I'm guessing made _you_ faint. The good doctor barely had to breathe on the skin around the boil to make it bleed, it's become so thin. You're staying in bed until the gauze along your crevice abets the flow.”

This conversation belonged in a textbook for how to break the spirits of murderers. The most depraved of them would shrivel away in humiliation. Javert dropped his neck to rest on the bed, staring at the pale green blanket to avoid looking at his unwarranted caretaker.

“...It's only bad if I strain my muscles back there,” stated Javert feebly. Not so feebly, he added: “I have been diligent in not infecting anybody, monsieur will be pleased to know. I have excellent agility, from what you've seen of my work, so it was simple to avoid making contact. All is well in that regard.”

“Mmhmm,” said Madeleine, as if paying attention to something else. “What about objects in the environment? Have you been touching anything without thinking about it, like doors or tables?”

“...What would that matter?”

“Germs can be carried on any surface, Javert. I suspect I'll need to quarantine your apartment now. Hopefully none of the gendarmes have been infected, either.”

“Don't be absurd, Monsieur le Maire!”, retorted Javert. “Decadence truly must have warped your mind if you're making up words! My inferiors are just fine!”

Madeleine gave a short bark of a laugh, but it sounded pained. The man was not smiling.

“I'm guessing you don't know about the new disease theory...Javert, promise me something. Promise me that, if this ever happens again, you will seek medical attention immediately.”

“I will do so,” asserted Javert. Doctors were primarily extortioners of honest people, and Javert had faith that most of his body could heal itself without their greedy hands scrawling unfathomable and pricey prescriptions for a cure that would probably not even work. But 'The Inspector's ass', as the mayor callously put it, had proven to be a part of him that needed special protection. But only because of the duty-related consequences of not doing so. Ingrown hair or whatever? Fine. Infection? Dime a dozen. Having to stand up in front of the honorable mayor of Montreuil when you were specifically told to sit? Unacceptable.

That, and...Madeleine spoke highly of the Pharaoh's Tomb whenever it was mentioned. The mayor was an honorable, if morally foolish and possibly deranged, gentleman. If the doctors there had won his favor, then Javert was willing to take a risk. Even if they did purport some newfangled theory of 'germs' or whatever.

“...Really? You promise, in truth?” Madeleine's voice carried an echo of fascination that irritated Javert to no end. How presumptuous! Javert craned his neck up from the bed to see the mayor's brown eyes wide with disbelief. He looked peculiar, wearing that expression. Javert couldn't place how it made him feel.

“Yes...”, affirmed Javert, making a point of frowning at the silly man. “Is that so strange, monsieur? You act as if I had promised something completely unthinkable.”

“Javert, the very last promise I expected you to make was submission to a...'charlatan shaman'?, I think you called your neighbor once. He hears you saying those things, you know. I had to pay him twice the going rate to keep him from spitting in...you know, forget I mentioned that.” Javert recoiled at the sudden realization: that ninny of a medic was touching him _there._ He could never take that back. He was tainted...The mayor continued despite his obvious discomfort: “This is unlike you is all I mean to say.”

Hmph. Javert pushed himself onto his elbows, ignoring Madeleine trying to force him down, and gingerly shifted his weight upon his right side. It wasn't sitting up straight, but it was the best he could do. Madeleine looked apprehensive, and perhaps rightly so.

“The only one acting unlike himself is monsieur. As for me...” He kept a strong, level gaze with the man's eyes. “Sitting is one of the few pleasures I have in life. I would like it back. When I get it back, I intend to keep it.”

Madeleine kept a level gaze with Javert throughout the pause that followed. The air in the room grew tense and uncertain...comically so. Javert almost predicted the sudden, roaring laugh that rumbled from the mayor's broad chest.

“Well said, Inspector! Well said...one of your few pleasures, indeed.” Madeleine gave a mischievous, toothy grin. “But I intend to change that.”

Javert tightly gripped the blanket beneath him.

“I-I must protest! Just what kind of club did you truly attend, Monsieur le Maire?! That look in your eyes...you've planned something for me.”

“Oh, yes, Javert. You said that you intend to pay for the expense of the care you require. You and I both know, however, that you can never hope to meet the price of high Parisian medicine. But not to worry! I have found a way you can pay me back. But it won't be with money is the only thing.”

Javert trembled. He had interrogated perverts who made very similar statements about their victims. Madeleine wasn't like that...but...

“The good people of the Pharaoh's Tomb club introduced me to a new way of life. I learned that decadence actually has a purpose: it is a form of charity all its own." Madeleine stood up from his chair and started pacing in front of him as he explained. "You see, alms and donations are short, easily made expressions of kindness. Most people appreciate that, but...other people, people like you, Monsieur Javert...”

Fear had gripped his form suddenly and harshly, like he were a child again that had to hide from the police. He knew how to resist the foolish arguments the mayor made for the futile acts of mercy that had become common in Montreuil. But this was different. Someway, somehow, Javert knew that Madeleine had finally developed a rebuttal that he couldn't immediately deny.

“...You need something else. You need kindness that is persistent, intimate, more enduring than a handful of coins. I would gladly let you take this treatment I'm providing with no condition, but you would never allow that. So, a compromise. As payment, you are to submit yourself to me for an experiment. I am extending your leave of absense from the police force, for the duration of your recovery from this illness...possibly, probably longer. Why?"

Madeleine sat back down, looking straight into Javert's eyes.

"I am going to pamper you, Inspector Javert. Your smallest desires, even ones you never imagined, will be satisfied. You will want for nothing. Haha! That look on your face, that look of 'why?', Javert! Because I want to see what happens, monsieur. And of course, you know that you will be unfeasibly in debt with me if you refuse. I won't say exactly how, not yet, but your life belongs to me now, and you are going to enjoy it if it's the last thing I do.”

“...Monsieur le Maire...”, Javert weakly croaked. “That is not kindness. That is cruelty. Do not deprive me of my work. I am loyal to you, but...Monsieur le Maire...!”

Madeleine stretched out his right arm to lay a gloved hand upon Javert's left cheek. It was completely unnecessary. This entire exercise was completely unnecessary, and yet Javert had no choice but to obey. Everything was turning upside down right in front of his eyes. If the mayor were actually Jean Valjean, which he wasn't, but if he were...then the convict was far more dangerous than he had ever conceived. Madeleine smiled with what Javert supposed was warmth. Who knew anymore?

“You are a tremendously hard-working man. Very secretive, and criminally deprived of affection. I am going to change all of these things, and then I will see who you _really_ are.”

Javert fell back onto his stomach and dropped his neck to the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, don't be so dramatic!”, chided Madeleine. Javert was acting like a child, regardless of how adorably petulant the gesture was. “You are a middle-aged man, no? Be reasonable with me. I have a convalescent Chief Inspector on my hands, and I truly would like to see him cared for properly. Otherwise, I fear that this disease would overtake your entire lower body.”

Jean heard a very faint moan that the blankets muffled. He forcefully reminded himself that there was nothing sexual about it, but his trousers felt tight nonetheless. When he left the room, he could muse on the ribald implications as much as he wanted. But right now, Madeleine needed to dispel any unnecessary doubt, or getting Javert to enjoy himself would be even more of a pain than was already anticipated.

Jean had not removed that hair ribbon...if he did, the strands would fall across his shoulders and face. Oh, dear. He liked that idea very much, yes indeed. _But. Not. Now._

“I trust you have questions for me. And that is well! That is one condition of this arrangement you will get to enjoy. Anything you want to say to me, anything you want me to say to you, all of it may be done without consequence. You may even be crude with me. So, ask away.”

Slowly, perhaps deliberately so, Javert lifted his head back up to face him. The convalescent had a calm, yet bemused expression that suited him surprisingly well. Confused Javert. Yes. That was a look that Madeleine would look forward to creating over the next two months (assuming the estimation of infection time lapse by Nui was good). Javert licked his lips. Dammit, why was he making this difficult?! Madeleine crossed his legs.

“Is that why you made that joke before I passed out?”, asked Javert. “You were hoping for this all along?”

Hmm. It made sense that the Inspector would analyze this. Well, there was no point in hiding it. But hopefully Javert didn't spoil too much of this for himself. Part of the fun was the surprise.

“In a sense. I didn't plan to heal you, or pamper you, at the beginning of the day, if that's what you mean. But I am happy to do so, and...well, yes, I may be crude with you in that process. We are both common folk at heart; I trust that aspect won't be an unfeasible issue with you, Javert.”

Javert turned his gaze to the window, no doubt getting a jolt from the gorgeous second story view of Montreuil getting blanketed in yet more snow. The moonlight was scarce from behind the clouds, yet it still cast a few pearly rays into the house. The candles in each corner sufficed for banishing the shadows from the room, as well as making Javert's sharp-angled face easily seen. But the snow-kissed moonlight made for a nice scene in the cozy room. Ass germs and all.

...Still. What on earth was Javert pondering toward the window?

“I have never been the most civil with you, Monsieur le Maire. I have suspected you of being someone else entirely, unjustly so."

Ah!

"Your alarm is understandable, monsieur. The man in question may very well be an imposter elsewhere; I wouldn't put it past him. I-I would rather not say any more about him, if monsieur would allow me that. And I am not good at hiding my scruples. I trust that you have noticed this.”

So Javert wished to tackle this issue already. Very well. But Madeleine would address another angle of it, hopefully to draw the man into a different type of conversation. One step at a time...starting with the most important step at all. Why not take a little risk, really? Perhaps this would make this all easier on both of them if it was addressed first.

“Indeed I have, Javert. Although, I didn't feel you were suspecting me of anything. Rather, I thought you were light in your loafers and took a liking to me.”

Ah-ha! Javert was instantly flush and wide-eyed. If Javert were not of this persuasion, then he would merely be insulted or confused. But this was a much more personal reaction. It was merely a formality to get it all confirmed.

“M-Monsieur le Maire! I-I never, you misunderstood my, my, oh what in blue blazes--”

“A simple yes or no will do, you silly man!”, answered Madeleine with an easily summoned chuckle. “I do not mind, if that is the case. The good book is written for living daily life, not so much for _those_ matters. Song of Solomon notwithstanding."

"Monsieur, I simply meant to say," Javert interceded, "that I'm surprised you're willing to go to such lengths on...on my behalf...after I behaved in that way. Surely you were at least put off by my actions."

Madeleine shrugged before responding: "As I said, I never thought you were trying to reveal me as some imposter. I know you know better than to do so unjustly. You are a professional first and foremost, and I trust you implicitly. Whomever I resemble that had you suspicious, I'm sure he is a nefarious fellow!"

Javert looked down to the floor. Was he ashamed? Madeleine felt a spike of guilt of his own. Valjean had escaped yet again, and at Javert's expense. But it couldn't be helped... _not yet._

"But back to the matter at hand. If you are fond of me, so to speak, then I will not spurn you. _In fact,_ ” Madeleine said with a deliberately dark, yet warm growl, “if you _are_ of that persuasion, then you should tell me, or this experiment may be confounded. I do not want to make you uncomfortable, and certainly not because of something like _that_. So, if you would, Inspector.”

Javert was still wide-eyed and flush, now breathing heavily and sweating a little. Madeleine's heart ached for the man. It was hard for him as well when the masseurs at the leisure club ousted him as a lover of men. This was a harsh way to learn the truth, but it was the most merciful method he could manage. Madeleine lamented that he lacked the skill of his Parisian teachers. But it couldn't be helped, _not until he had more experience._ And besides...if Javert truly were of that persuasion...if Javert _liked_ him...Madeleine's trousers were very tight.

“You have already made me uncomfortable, Madeleine. That is something I would rather not--”

“Do not forget our arrangement, Javert. Your life is forfeit to me. If you withhold important information from me, then I may be forced to quit the whole deal and put you in debt.” Madeleine hated himself for laying down an ultimatum, but this was far too important. For both of them. “This is for your own good, Javert, I promise on my honor. Please. Just be honest with me, like you always are.”

Javert's face seemed to showcase an inner civil war of virtues and values and obligations. Madeleine felt it would come to this at some point: the stone-faced blowhard of a police spy who obeyed naught but the law would come head to head with the suffocated, red-blooded fellow who needed to trust someone like him. It was undoubtedly a difficult decision for him to make, and Madeleine was moved by the poignancy of this transformation. But he was prepared to help him make the correct decision. If nothing else, Madeleine would win that one victory from this exercise.

Or perhaps Javert was just constipated. When did he move his bowels last? As dispiriting a question as it was, it was an important one to answer.

Javert bowed his head against the bed. Medical inquiries would have to wait until tomorrow morning.

“I trust that this is difficult for you. Perhaps this will make it easier for you to admit.” Here it went, the risk that would define this situation one way or the other. The final criterion to be met, being met first. “I am a lover of men myself. Not that I am promiscuous, but the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I am not ashamed, and if you feel the same way, then you should not be either.”

Javert was gripping the blanket beneath him. He seemed afraid to move, afraid to look up.

“...You speak the truth? I know you are kind to a fault, Monsieur le Maire. Please do not lie to me on this matter.”

Jean had to keep from sighing in exasperation. Javert still did not lift his head.

“Javert...that is as good as a confession. Just say it. For your own sake, cease this self-torment.”

Three.

Two.

One.

“I am fond of you, Monsieur le Maire. I will not act upon it, I swear. But...s-since you seem insistent on it...I admit that I d-d-des--”

“You desire me.” Madeleine spoke it as a whisper, a breath that was stolen by shock and a flood of warmth into his stomach. His prick strained against the confines in which it was so cruelly trapped.

Javert seemed to choke back a sob.

“T-This is all too much. Monsieur le Maire, you have made this day full of nonsense.” Javert pulled up his face to be seen. Madeleine drank in the sight of Javert made vulnerable, not by sickness, but by honest-to-God intimacy with another person. Another person whom would prove to be trustworthy of that intimacy beyond any doubt. “I cannot bear all of this. Please let me go home. I need to think about all of this alo--”

Madeleine could not stand it anymore. He pulled Javert to him for a simple, highly restrained kiss on the forehead. Pure bliss. Javert was going to faint again if he was not careful. But that dear face, pleading for mercy at last...it was too much for _him._ His trousers were finally, happily soiled.

“I apologize yet again, Inspector. This day has been overwhelming for me as well. You have been very brave tonight. Now I will leave you be until the morrow.”

He stood up to stride toward the door and finally end this wonderful, stressful meeting. The wash basin by his room would have to suffice for killing the germs he had just ingested. But for now, he had to add:

“But you will spend your nights here. That I cannot change. If nothing else, I refuse to send you out into the cold tonight to worsen your illness. Oh, speaking of which, let me know if you need a thicker blanket. Ah, what am I saying, of course you do. If you'll tolerate my errands for a while longer, please!”

Javert did not move since the ill-advised kiss. Javert was frozen, the poor dear. It was just as well that Madeleine could not see underneath the blanket covering Javert, lest he expose whatever reaction the...it was starting to sink in...Javert desired him in truth. Madeleine was lusted for, by the Chief Inspector. He had to leave.

“Wait.”

Madeleine turned around obediently. He was to be a servant to Javert as well as a porter. He would have to get used to this sort of command.

“Yes, Javert?”

“You said that I can speak freely. I wish to say that you are not who I thought you were at all.”

Madeleine grinned at the unguarded sass. He could definitely get used to this.

“I am not who I thought you were? Have I presented myself falsely to you?”

“By your own admission, Monsieur le Maire!” Javert still did not move from his stunned position, despite the motion of lips Madeleine could still barely see from the poor angle. “Albeit not verbally, you have made it clear!”

Madeleine decided to play into the argument, falling slave to the rhetoric's rhythm. It became clear to him what made the most sense to say next.

“Very well then...how am I acting now to appear differently to you?”

A pregnant pause.

“With all due respect, Monsieur le Maire, you are acting like a prick.”

A rumbling laugh! Oh, there it was, that spirit of defiance that had become harmless to him. A dash of wit offered impotently; it just fit the conversation all too well. But it fit the man who said it even more so, like a finely tailored suit. Javert was handsome, now that the Inspector was going to be tamed.

“An honorable prick, I hope. A prick that wants you to enjoy your life a little more.”

“...But a prick nonetheless.”

Madeleine turned and opened the door to exit the room. But he stopped before closing the door behind him. A retort was suddenly summoned to him, inspired by the heat in his groin.

“Speaking of pricks, I spied yours as I undressed you. I am impressed that you can hide such a creature so flawlessly.”

The door shut behind him. He finally rubbed his fingers over the warmth upon his lips.

Why did he say that? Why in any hell did he say that?!


	4. Chapter 4

 

The stray beams of moonlight lazily pierced the shadows that the candlelight refused to reach...the silk was impeccably soft and inviting...the sounds of the house settling and footsteps clapping against the hardwood floor were spreading an exquisite balm of mundane music upon the ear, all of it far too calm and numbing for what had just happened.

The Inspector with only one name made a point of not observing his lower body as he shifted in the bed. No thoughts of that travesty, no attempts to relieve the throbbing tension, only distractions and deep breaths. He supposed that rationalizing the events mentioned in the conversation would have been wise. But doing so would necessitate dwelling upon them, and Javert had already received enough psychic trauma to last him through Easter. If only he weren't too feverish...wait. Yes, Madeleine said he was running a fever. He had foolishly never noticed. Well, as troublesome as that was, it was distracting from the main topic. If only he weren't too feverish to have the presence of mind to clarify how he wanted to pay for the medicine, then this would not have happened.

_Do not look upon yourself._

Personal bodyguard was the first choice in mind, were he in possession of it at the time. Or perhaps a long-term house servant for the evenings. Sword fighting lessons. Double patrols for a year was a good one. Advice on mayoral duties (a longshot, but it was fair to suggest). Something other than whatever word that could describe this new existence to which he had surrendered, for however long. But all he said was 'I'll pay for it': _idiot!_

"This is why I never get sick. It is far too much of a hassle."

The words echoed softly off the light brown wood of the walls, quickly and eerily eaten by the predominant void of sound that persisted in befuddling his mood. This was fine for trying to sleep, but not for coping with...THAT.

Although! Even if he had outlined a method of payment, he would still have been requesting a highly-priced service from a man that already gave away too much money. If the mayor were to set terms of his own (which was undeniably the case...), then Javert was honor-bound to comply. Within reason. Payment in this manner, however...only a morally disoriented man like Madeleine could have conceived of it. Only Jean Valjean would have been entertained by the idea. And only this third, distorted creature of a man that Javert had finally discovered would have actually gone through with it.

_Do not look. You already confessed your purposeless attraction, and no further proof of it is necessary. Keep your eyes and hands away!_

Jean Valjean, eh? That cretin would find this to be absolutely hilarious, Javert was sure. The scowling, uptight prison guard forced to share intimate details before a superior, yes, the perfect comical fodder for that brute. This deeper, truer iteration of Madeleine, on the other hand: he certainly seemed amused, but also...predatory, eerily enough. Humiliating comments, pressing questions, the topic of 'desire' needlessly brought up and even more needlessly emphasized, and all of it punctuated by THAT contact.

_Deeper breaths. Let your head bob with the effort. Maybe agitate the boil to make yourself retreat from this state. Whatever it takes. Hmm? Ah, the gauze. Yes, dwell on that sensation instead. Disgusting._

If he needed any more proof that this fellow was not the thief in question, then this would stand as a stone-solid wall of disassociation. Jean Valjean would never do THAT. The idea was laughable. Even the image of it held something comical. Warm, yet comical. What? Warm...

No. Thoughts were mixing together beyond his control. This was not working to his intent. He had to go to sleep and stop thinking altogether. Madeleine had played his queer little games, and the effects of them would wear off by morning. That was, if he could even get to sleep in this state.

The door clicked and creaked open. Speak of the devil. His 'caretaker' carried a modest tin bucket of water with a small rag in the right hand, and a fur blanket over the left shoulder. Javert already felt like a parasite of commodities just looking at them. He would have to refuse them, but he found it oddly difficult to speak at that moment. But why? Perhaps--ah, yes. Neglecting the first priority always made his head foggy. He would simply disregard the items and speak of the real problem at hand.

"I swear, that boy must be aiming to make me dismiss him early with this laziness. Fat chance of that! He will have to stay a while longer to make up for it, and the timing is flawless."

Madeleine set the bucket down and unceremoniously threw the blanket over Javert's head.

"There! Now you will not have to reel at the sight of everything that's happening."

Javert supposed that was supposed to be funny. Mostly it was reminding him of how much he had already slept today. His body was already a little stiff.

"Monsieur, I would appreciate it if--"

"Hmm? One moment."

Suddenly, the blanket was pulled up past his head. Now most of it rested upon his neck and upper back, quickly making him uncomfortably warm.

"If you would try again."

"... _Monsieur le Maire_ , I would advise that we do not speak of our private inclinations any more. We both know the staggering impropriety and risk of doing so."

Madeleine grew still, as if Javert had said something wrong. What was the issue? Javert could perhaps understand the mayor having that odd impulse, perhaps from pure relief of finding a common soul to which to relate, but that changed nothing. Men of perversion had to behave just like men of virtue. Society would not stand for anything like that conversation.

"...Indeed. Tonight is an anomaly."

Javert felt his own sigh of relief cooling him down slightly.

"Yes, exactly."

"In any case, it would not be well to be lustful when you are still contagious."

...Javert considered pulling the blanket over his head again.

"Is there anything else?"

That was easy to answer: "If you would leave me to sleep instead of making tactless jokes, monsieur. I fear it will be difficult as it is." What? That last sentence appeared behind his tongue out of nowhere, insisting on manipulating the hapless organ. This would surely make things worse for him.

"Really?" The man's tone shifted to immediate concern, of course. "I thought you would still want to recover from your blood loss. Oh, speaking of which, I almost forgot...yes, here in my pocket!"

Madeleine pulled out some gauze from the left trouser pocket. No. No.

No no no no no! Absolutely not!

"Iwillhandlethatmonsieurthankyou," Javert managed to garble.

"You certainly will not." Javert felt blood drain from his face. "Your hands would worsen the infection throughout your body. You would not even know where or how to apply it."

" _I am sure I can cover the area_ \--"

"As I said, Javert, location is not the only factor. Anyway, this needs to last through the night, and I will not have you covered in blood come morning if you folded it--"

"MONSIEUR, I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO APPLY THAT MYS--"

The mayor's gloved right hand clamped down upon Javert's bare neck. The force of it was comparable to a leather collar chained to a stone wall.

" _You are going to have to trust me_ ," said the mayor in a horribly soft, low voice. "Applying gauze with contagious hands is a poor idea. I have been taught how to use gauze by your current doctor. And yes, I will be touching you in intimate places. I am sorry, but it cannot be helped."

Javert tried to look away from Madeleine's solemn expression to find the strength to argue, but...he couldn't. No matter how much pride compelled him to pull away, no matter how much fear compelled him to flee, the mayor had a hint of sadness in his eyes. Javert was disappointing his superior. How was he to bear this position?! Of all the men to be above him, it had to be a mother hen of a man!

"Please...! I beg of you, leave me to assemble myself for this!"

Madeleine said nothing. But Javert felt the hand shackling him start to softly dig its fingers into his neck. What? They were prying for something, or so it seemed. Why?! Why was the magistrate of Montreuil pressing into his flesh, and for what were his fingers searching? Hidden treasure?! Oh, what was next on this agenda of madness, flapping his arms like a chicken? Perhaps this experiment in truth was meant to break his spirit for--oh. Oh. _Oh_...

"M-Monsieur...what are you, nngh, doing?"

"Peace." The mayor was whispering. "Keep your neck still, there's a good man."

Suddenly, breathing was easier. Javert inhaled deeply, richly, down to the bottom of his belly. His brain swelled with air, sparking embers of disorientation to life. The house settled again, a small click of wood from the top right corner of the room. A small groan buzzed his gums, and yet the voice within him screaming 'Restraint!' was growing fainter. The voice faded to nothing, as if it were deliberately being smothered by the house-born music and the mayor's swirling, cradling fingers. His neck had sold his soul to...erm...something. Something. Words...words were fading as well. What was happening?

Madeleine chuckled. But it sounded oddly sinister. Perhaps the man was simply tired, and his voice was wavering into an unfortunate growl. Javert could understand that in this very moment.

"Just a bit of tension relief. It comes as no surprise to me that you are stiff here." Was this permissible for high society men to do? He could not be sure. Madeleine did sound tired, though. 

"Now, I will say it again. You will have to trust me, my silly Javert." Hmm? Oh no, the gauze! Javert looked upon his magistrate to listen clearly. "It will take only a few seconds, and then you may pretend that it never happened if you wish." Madeleine smiled sweetly.

The man always did have a good smile. The symmetrical, thickly-muscled, labor-weathered face brightened whenever the muscles stretched before him, even when it seemed insincere. It became even better since that trip: wider, more sincere, eyes twinkling a little at the recipient. Right in this moment, it looked...well, it looked...

Safe.

"Very well. Just keep the contact at a minimum." The sentence was pieced together in some corner of his brain, long-since forgotten and unfueled. Now it churned with gentle combustive energy.

"Of course." Madeleine did not chuckle or say it irreverently. It was safe...as safe as it was going to get. Javert could withstand this. He had done so for far worse, mayor or no mayor. Yes. He simply needed to pretend that it was not happening.

The hand returned to normal behavior expected of hands by returning to its owner's side. The other hand pulled off the silk sheet. Javert closed his eyes and thought of the dry language of police reports. At fourteen hours and seventeen minutes into November the Thirtieth--aaah--of 1822, a group of three nameless male gamin, aged--mmmph!--from eight years to nine to eleven, was caught--nngh, chills--pickpocketing a total of forty francs--oough...--from one Monsieur--

"All done."

And not a moment too soon. Javert relaxed his shoulders and shifted himself like a compass needle toward the front of the bed. He heard Madeleine snickering as he also heard the tin bucket being moved from the foot of the bed to where Javert's head now lay upon the plush pillow.

"I'll leave this bucket here if you wish to wash your face," continued Madeleine as if he had not effectively groped an Inspector. "If not, then I suppose you could just drink out of it, knowing you. It's clean and easily cleaned again, so do as you wish."

Drink out of the bucket...he licked his lips. An entire bucket to sate his thirst. Was this entire exercise to be defined by excess? His neck felt warm. He believed leisure to be defined by 'just the right amount' as opposed to more than one could handle. A bucket full of pure water...

"Now to take this and burn it...goodness me, that's a dark red."

Blood. Javert had new gauze, to soak up the blood. He was clean. He was thirsty. Javert picked up the bucket and took a generous mouthful of the water. He took a few more. And a few more. The bucket was empty and resting upon the floor, the rag rendered irrelevant. Javert felt guilty. Why did he feel that way?

"...My word. Do you need more, Javert?"

Oh, no. The mayor was feeling guilty, that voice said so. That was why Javert felt this way! No, that would not do, not because of him.

"I am perfectly sated. You have done more than enough." His throat was quickly soaking up the bucket's contents, already eager for some more. But the mayor smiled. Javert sighed in relief.

"Good. Sleep well." The mayor left.

Javert arranged the silk and fur blankets around him, undid his hair ribbon to lay with the rag atop the bucket, rested upon his right side, and obeyed.

* * *

 

Three knocks roused Javert to sit up and shield his eyes against the brightly streaming rays of the sun through the window. The flurry had ceased, and he spied a set of clothing from his apartment sitting upon the dresser to the left of the bed. Good. He dressed himself and stretched his horribly stiff back, both done as delicately as he could. Now he could start to find a way out of this mess and go home. It was the only way. He could convince the mayor to alter the deal to something reasonable, and he could sleep in his own bed. Yes. Javert was to leave the mairie and its associated memories behind, and everything would be alright.

But someone was still at the door. Ah, perfect timing. He could start the persuasion right away.

"The door is unlocked, monsieur."

The door clicked and hesitantly swung open to reveal no monsieur at all. Victor the servant stood in the doorway with a meek smile and a crisp sheet of paper in both hands. Javert did not like that paper one bit. It carried an ill omen, he just knew it.

Javert smelled a wafting scent from the clothes about his body. They were freshly washed.

"Good morning, Inspector! I meant to wake you up earlier, but I felt it would be a shame to do so when you were slumbering so peacefully. I left some clothes instead, as you obviously noticed. The time is ten o' clo--"

"What do you want, you ridiculous boy?"

Victor blanched.

Wait. Ten o' clock? He slept for thirteen hours?! That was absolutely shameful. No wonder he felt like a wooden plank! He moved to stand up and walk toward the boy, tolerating his buttocks rubbing against the boil for the sake of regaining purpose.

"P-Pardon, pardon! You see, le Sieur le Maire left instructions with me." The boy's voice turned bitter at the end for some reason. That was peculiar, but unimportant. "He regrets not being able to join you this morning, but he had urgent business to address. I am to ask you some questions, and then I will bring food for you to break your fast."

"You will have to be quick with the questions. And food will not be necessary. As soon as you have read them, I will be departing to recuperate in my own apartment."

"...Monsieur, the first item on the list of questions is actually a command. 'Inspector Javert is not to leave his room in the mairie during his recuperation without my expressed permission, which is most certainly not granted to him at this time.'"

"..."

Words. Javert needed more words, or this ordeal would melt his mind. Perhaps his own frustrated fury would do so first, if only as a testament to the mayor for how ill this suited 'people like Javert'.

"Why would the housekeeper not prepare any food?" As irrelevant a question as it was, the idea of a young man preparing food for a mayor seemed questionable.

"She is not here. I can prepare whatever you need."

Javert wondered if Victor could keep the stove cool enough not to burn his clothes. If so, then that was one talent that the boy had over him.

"...Anyway," continued Victor. "The first question is 'Are you feeling light-headed this morning?'"

"No." At least not from anything physical.

"Okay, good. Next is 'Is your throat unnaturally dry?'"

"No." Whatever that was supposed to mean, Javert was sure the answer was no. He was thirsty, though.

"Third is 'Did you wake up with blood upon your per'--oh my Lord, what illness is this?"

"The answer is no."

"...Perhaps you should step back a bit, Inspector." Oh, this boy had some nerve.

"I am standing in a perfectly fine place," said Javert sourly. "If you are uncomfortable, then take the liberty of adjusting your own position."

Hesitantly, Victor stepped toward the door while still facing the interviewee. For some bizarre reason, the sound of Victor doing so triggered a flood of urine to beckon from Javert's sealed bladder. He drank a lot of water last night, yes he did.

"F-Fourth on the list is 'Is there any blood in your urine?' Oh, these are general questions, aren't they?"

"...No."

"Oh dear, that must be--"

" _The answer to the question is no_. Did they not teach you context clues in Paris?"

"...I was home schooled."

And yet the boy followed Madeleine home from a leisure club. What a world. 

But that was not to say that Javert was lessened for...ah, he was being unfair.

"I was as well." In a manner of speaking, anyway. " _Next question, quickly_ ," Javert preempted before Victor would press for more information. He really had to piss now.

"R-Right! Fifth question: 'Are you constipated?' Eugh..."

'Eugh' was not the right word.

"...Yes." Javert had to close his eyes to answer. If it weren't for that damn symptom, he would not have discovered just how much blood could discharge from...that area. The 'shock' that followed the discovery was another delightful surprise. And now he had to relate it to a servant boy that seemed entitled to make little comments wherever was chosen. He was never getting sick again.

He didn't even feel constipated; he was just testing to see if it was a problem he could fix by himself!

"Ah...it says here that if you are, then I should give you some aloe vera."

"What in the name of piss is 'al-owe verruh'?" Victor started laughing for no apparent reason. Javert was not sure he wanted to know anymore.

"I-It's a nutritional ointment that can also be a laxative, and that is all I will say on the matter!" Victor kept laughing.

What was it that Javert thought to himself before arriving here yesterday? 'A fresh hell of unimaginable proportion?' Well, as it turned out, he was wrong. It must have been perfectly imaginable, else this would not have been happening so casually.

"...You should not bother for that." Victor stopped laughing. "I believe that I will...just trust me when I say that it would not be a good idea to give me...that stuff." Javert privately fumed at his own wit withering before his eyes. "The time is not right. And that is all I will say on _that_ matter."

"...A compromise."

The boy suddenly seemed collected. Perhaps the old Inspector's moment of flubbed speech had emboldened him. This was sure to be interesting.

"I do not believe that a 'compromise' is necessary here."

"Not true. You need to be equipped with the appropriate medicine, even if the situation is unfavorable. I will bring the aloe vera to you, and I will leave it to your best judgment when to use it."

...That was it? Victor's face was detestably smug at the suggestion as well. That was just a logical suggestion...one that Javert should have made to himself. He felt blood rush to his face. Yet more blood where it didn't belong. Javert spotted the chamber pot in the room and managed to contain himself for a while longer.

"Fine."

"I knew it would be. Question six is...oh. Your gauze..." Victor looked extremely ill-at-ease.

"...A deal." Javert was NOT going to consent to that. EVER. Madeleine was tricky, but this boy messing back there was unthinkable. That paper probably did not tell Victor to do it, but this had to be made perfectly clear. "You bring me some spare gauze and some gloves. I am sure le Sieur le Maire has some in his room. I will change it myself."

At the very least, he would play by the rules that he was taught. Germs or no germs, he would not be accused of being haphazard with medical apparati.

"T-That sounds good. I will be right back." At least the boy knew appropriate boundaries, unlike...hmm. Last night was a mess of thoughts that he still did not want to dissect. But that neck rub did something odd to him, albeit not unwelcome. As in the sensation was pleasant, but not the idea of whom was performing it. Regardless that Javert was subject to endure it as contracted, Madeleine had the nerve to manhandle his neck and...change the gauze...

Ah. Now he had to wait until he could piss, after Victor had already left. That was just perfect.

Javert decided to listen to the subtle noises of the house again to calm himself. Perhaps if he gave it a fair chance, then it _could_ subdue this perverted tension. Only time would tell.

No settling this time, but a few birds that had yet to migrate were chirping as they flew around outside the large house. The melody was shrill and unattractive, but at the same time, the rhythm was consistent and subdued. He re-tied his shoes and walked around to clap them against the wood, mixing with the chirps as he circled the room several times. He usually only did this to fall asleep on days with eventless (or high-stakes) patrols, but this case was extremely unusual. Javert already felt his pulse slowing and his muscles becoming lax. Little by little, he felt his prick slither back into its hollow.

But not in nearly enough time.

As Victor knocked to re-enter the room, Javert hurriedly adjusted himself while suppressing the urge to bellow at the poorly-timed oaf. He took the gauze (the boy had grabbed far too much) and gloves and...that tin bucket from last night. That was actually thoughtful of the lad. Well done. Victor left just as quickly as he came, and Javert swapped the gauze according to the most sensible procedure as indicated by the materials available. In other words, pack the entire area and dump the old ones as quickly as possible. Javert took longer than would be necessary for the gauze in order to recede his tumescence some more and finally relieve himself. The whole event took three minutes before he pulled his pants up to his waist again.

Deep crimson had completely soaked the cloth...Javert dumped the gloves into the bucket as well. His hands had burst a few of the seams as they slid through the fabric anyway.

"It is safe to enter."

Victor did so, less hesitantly than the first time, Javert noticed. He handed the now dirty bucket to Victor, who set it down beside him and reached into a pocket to pull out that list. The boy also handed him a small bottle of a clear salve. No mention was made of how long it took to change the gauze.

Victor rattled off some more questions, which were all inane and pointless and easily answered. Headaches, dizziness, fatigue, excessive flatulence (Victor was far too amused by the query), breathing difficulties, etc...all nonexistent. One question about touching items around the room exasperated both of them, giving Javert an uncomfortable twitch of camaraderie. The birds had flown off somewhere, probably toward the Equator.

"Last question." Thank the heavens. "What would you like to break your fast?"

"I am not hungry."

Javert was truly not hungry. He knew that he should have been, since he had not eaten since yesterday morning. Perhaps his stomach was actually trying to help him find a way out of this ordeal by way of withdrawing temptation for food. It was a small gesture, but one that would keep him on the path of--

*GURGLE*

Et tu, belly?

"Clearly that is not the case."

Then fall, Javert.

"...Surprise me."

Victor seemed to lose all his mental coordination by those two words. Why did le Sieur le Maire keep this ninny around the mairie, anyway?

"M-Monsieur, I cannot work with--"

"USE YOUR IMAGINATION."

Victor fled. Javert saw the dirty bucket still on the floor and buried his face in his hands.

Six minutes later, Javert found a way to handle the bucket without going downstairs. He spotted an array of matches upon the dining table in the room, all of them brand new. Why was there a dining table in a bedroom? Nevertheless, he took one, lit it, and tossed it into the tin bucket to burn the contents. The smell was best left undescribed. He opened the leftmost window and, when the gauze and gloves were sufficiently immolated, dumped them onto the snow to snuff the flames. He also emptied the chamber pot while the window was open.

Ten minutes after that, at a quarter to eleven o' clock or so, Javert felt the stiffness in his back begin to recede in earnest. He decided that he was going to eat breakfast standing up today to help get rid of it faster. As if on cue, Javert heard two brisk knocks on the door with some clacking silverware to accompany the clonking fist. That was a new sound to add to the mundanity. Javert opened the door to reveal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more than one interpretation of Javert, and I inadvertently made this one into a potential ASMR enthusiast, and it's kind of adorable.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said it was going to get gross before it got going? Well, apparently I lied. This was supposed to be cute and naughty, and then...well, you'll see.
> 
> Then again, some people would find this gross in and of itself. That's the trouble with sexy stories: Your Mileage Varies :|

 

_...WHY?!_

There in the doorway stood the mayor, looking as if nothing about him being there was out of place in the slightest. He was holding a wooden tray that itself held two plates of some odd concoctions which Javert had never seen before. The only exception was the eggs, but even those were prepared uniquely. He saw a new pair of gloves on the man and shivered involuntarily.

"...Monsieur le Maire? Why have you paused your work? Noon has not even struck yet!"

Madeleine shrugged lightly. He could not be bothered to care about any of that for the rest of the day. If pushed about it any further, he was likely to punch a hole in the wall.

Javert felt a pit in his stomach. To be so glib about mayoral duties was not a good omen. Besides breaking protocol, it could mean that Madeleine meant to 'care' for Javert more often than expected.

"My paperwork is going faster than I thought it would. I thought I would take a break and check up on you, and I found young Victor scheming to spit in your food. What did you say to him, anyway?" Madeleine did not sound upset, but rather weary. Javert began to infer that the two of them did not like each other that much. But Madeleine hired him all the way from Paris...

Then again, this was Madeleine, after all. Foolish decisions were his signature dish. For example, pausing his work to come here.

"I yelled at him. He was tripping over himself and needed a push in the right direction."

Madeleine quirked his lips into a wry frown. As if Victor needed an irate Inspector to pose another distracting stimulus. Ah, well: this episode would diminish in due time. Why was Javert still standing in front of the doorway?

"Making friends wherever you go, as usual. For punishing him in the future, you should know he responds better to passive-aggressive correction or sheer disappointment."

...Wow. Paris had unveiled Madeleine to be rather catty. Javert was not sure how he felt about that. But at least his superior was not significantly upset. Not that the mayor should have been, anyway.

Madeleine had to admit that Javert gawking at his words was amusing. But the buzz of humor faded far too quickly.

"Why did you bring him here, anyway?"

"I will gladly answer your question if you will stop _blocking the path_."

Javert almost tripped over himself to move away from the door. Madeleine looked intensely worried for an instant, but then the man became sullen and moved to set the tray upon the lone table in the room. Javert had wondered why a bedroom had a table in it, but it occurred to him that Madeleine probably had it brought it up here while he was asleep. Unnecessary as it was, it seemed the mayor was intent to use it this way.

"Should I even ask why we are dining together?"

"That is a different question. I will answer the first one."

Javert closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Madeleine had to do the same as he seated himself in one of the two chairs.

"Victor is typically a model servant," Madeleine answered without inflection. "The Pharaoh's Tomb was becoming tiresome to him, and I enjoyed his candor, so it made sense to make the transfer. He has his faults, as I am sure you observed, but he can be exceptionally considerate of my needs as well as yours. He is also very talented at meals, although I only learned this today."

Javert felt increasingly unnerved by the flat tone the mayor was using. Something was 'off'.

"Begging your pardon, Monsieur le Maire, I must insist: what on earth could have made you interrupt your duties to come here? That line about paperwork was a thin one."

The mayor rolled his eyes humorlessly. He was not in the mood for this frivolous investigation. He wanted to eat his breakfast and not look at another conflicting argument for where to install a new well for...for the rest of his life. If only Javert were not ill as well as prudish, then Madeleine could relieve his frustration with a little affection between the two of them. But even with a mutual attraction, the odds of affection were still slim. Only this experiment would show him the real man behind the ninny standing awkwardly by the table, and Madeleine was more content to eat than entertain for now.

Javert, meanwhile, found himself preferring the inexplicably cheerful Madeleine from before. He could handle reactions like this for disputing the merit of giving alms and the like, but this was the mayor's home. Javert was not about to cause the man grief in the mairie of all places, no matter how pointless the situation was. And decrying this situation as pointless would be mocking the man's hospitality to a guest, never mind who the guest was. If he were to escape this, then he had to advertise the alternative methods of payment instead of defaming the current one.

"Take a seat. If you must know, I had to leave early and missed breakfast. I do not care for your tone, however."

Javert felt his face flush, and for once it felt apt. Except...wait.

"I thought you said I could speak freely." He had completely forgotten about that until now.

"That does not mean I will not be offended by what you say. I meant that I will not punish you for saying something rude or stupid." Javert was not at fault, but the man's annoying persistence had outstayed its welcome for the rest of the day.

Javert swallowed his saliva. Madeleine watched him look to the ceiling at the same time.

"Please pardon my impudence, in that case."

"You are pardoned." The mayor was waiting for him.

"Would you mind if I ate standing up, Monsieur le Maire?" Why not test the limits of this 'pampering' of which he was to endure? "I wish to reduce the tension in--"

_I am the stupidest man alive._

"Oh my word, I am the sorry one, Javert!" The mayor seemed genuinely surprised and contrite. "I am not myself this morning. Well purity has stolen my mind, and I disregarded your boil."

"...Ah, it is no trouble. You are a busy man." He had forgotten about it himself.

Javert supposed that he should have felt incredibly silly and ashamed. But instead, he felt oddly liberated. He was capable of forgetting it. If this were the case, then perhaps he would recover from it all the quicker! And then he would probably get away from this insanity all the quicker as well!

...Probably.

Javert fell down to earth again. What would be a good time to start proposing alternatives, then? Maybe halfway through breakfast. Yes, that sounded fair. He at least had to try.

"...Javert? Javert! Pay attention when I address you!"

Javert stood at attention like a soldier. The force of it made him wince, and so did Madeleine out of sympathy.

"Monsieur!"

" _Not like that_...dear me, this is going to be an interesting winter."

* * *

 

Madeleine started to calm down in earnest as he partook of breakfast at last. Eggs florentine was not expected, but Victor seemed eager to please now that his vacation time 'may come early if extra effort is made'. Perhaps it would, if this was what the boy made for food. The culinary supplies that Madeleine was coerced into taking back were genuinely making themselves worth the while. The dish was excellent for him, especially as he savored the textures and flavors at play. As for Javert...

"Are you in pain?"

Over from the bed, Javert hesitantly shook his head, despite the horrid face he made as he chewed the hollandaise-soaked bread. The Inspector had tried to stand up and eat next to him at the table, but as he started suggesting sword lessons for payment, Javert began to look at the bed intermittently. Madeleine took the opportunity and suggested laying upon it and dining that way, even making use of the tray he had brought up here. Javert immediately took to the idea and laid upon his left side as he broke his fast.

Javert could not bring himself to suggest another plan while this queer monstrosity of a meal sloshed along his tongue. Madeleine deliberately avoided the topic altogether, not wanting to have to state the obvious answer to the ridiculous request.

After swallowing, Javert elaborated: "I could never articulate how this meal tastes."

"Creamy?", offered Madeleine. "A hint of lemon?" He almost wanted to say "eggy" for the exasperated reaction, but refrained as he took another bite himself.

"I meant I could never articulate it as a whole. It has something that tastes indescribable to me." Javert was avoiding the spinach. Maybe that was supposed to go with the rest of it, but it seemed so odd. Spinach with eggs? Not that he ate eggs regularly, but... _spinach with eggs?_

"Ah...I wonder what that would be?" Madeleine could feel the energy in the conversation dwindling.

Javert shrugged and took another bite. He was still making the constipated face.

Madeleine did not want to eat in silence. Four months before, it was just a part of the lifestyle he had chosen: avoid too much socializing and be grateful for not being in chains. But the tenderness and acceptance that the leisure club showed him made him more ambitious for small pleasures if nothing else. Silk sheets. Ingredients for fine meals. Conversation with the other person in the room. Frivolous things like so, except they were not truly frivolous when their utility was harnessed in the name of better health and better work. He wanted to get a good conversation out of the man that did not revolve around the situation at hand.

Although...Javert still made no mention of that contradiction.

Javert decided to eat the spinach separately. The hollandaise sauce made it taste odd as well. He was enjoying the distraction from the stress of persuading the ridiculous mayor to see sense. Although...he didn't like the look Madeleine was giving him.

"Last night," said the mayor after swallowing a particularly sumptuous bite. "You said we were not to talk about any lustful intentions."

"...Indeed." Javert was scared to hear what was to follow. He did not let this show, but he was sure that he looked angry instead. In a way, he was angry.

"Yet you confessed to me that you enjoy the company of men. That is very unusual for a man who--"

" _I enjoy no such thing,_ " corrected Javert. "Pardon my tone, Monsieur le Maire, but I merely have inconvenient desires."

Madeleine snorted. Javert quirked his eyebrows quizzically.

"What could be so amusing?"

"'Inconvenient desires'...an interesting way to phrase that!" Madeleine began laughing openly, only stopping when he had the urge for more of the eggs florentine. After another bite: "What I was trying to say before I was interrupted--" He let the statement stand.

Javert blushed furiously before saying: "I-I meant no disrespect, monsieur, but you ask such personal questions of me! How am I to stand it?!"

Madeleine sighed. Javert looked fetching in ordinary clothing, he had to admit. But he missed the hat. The hat was the best part.

"Just remember your place. I was trying to say that it seems odd for a man to confess desires that lesser men would rather slit their throats than do the same, to also refuse to discuss them with a fellow man with the same desires. That makes no sense to me, Inspector."

"With all due respect, Monsieur le Maire," Javert answered without hesitation. "You may desire men as you please, but my desire is none of your business. I told you how I feel because you coerced me into doing so while disoriented from this situation. As I said and as you agreed last night, nothing will come of it."

Madeleine took the last bite of his breakfast. Javert did as well. Madeleine strode to the door and called for Victor to take the plates and tray and wash them with the new soap. After a minute, Victor did as told and left the two men to lounge in the room in silence.

He had agreed to no such thing. But if Javert was still willing to discuss what happened...hmm! There was an idea. Silliness was suitable compensation for the lack of an overt request. He thought of walking past the bakery this morning and became inspired. Javert looked slightly upset, undoubtedly from his dear mayor shirking municipal duty for a period of time. But he would soon wipe that from his mind.

"Do you like sweets, Inspector?"

Javert furrowed his brow and actually tilted his head slightly, like the watchdog he was. With eyebrows like those, Javert did look like one at times. But this was not to his disadvantage, not as Madeleine saw it.

"Not at all. Why do you ask, monsieur?"

"Ah. That is a shame, since I was hoping to share with you something I spied in the bakery this morning. In fact, I thought of you as soon as I saw it. Or rather, them."

Javert could not help but feel that his dear Madeleine was trying to speak of something other than pastries. He cleared his throat for no particular reason. Why was the man still here? Why did this have to continue like this?

"You seem intent on talking about them, monsieur, so by all means." What else was he to do? He was trapped in this room like a quarantine! He _was_ a quarantine!

"As long as it does not bother you." Madeleine suppressed a grin at the fact he was actually doing this. "I spied two fine, fat cakes of the oddest shape. Semi-spherical, can you imagine? The baker must be attempting a curiosity campaign, and if you ask me, it is working well. They were handsome as well: coated in caramel and dotted all around with small sticks of black licorice. I hope they are still there, in case I work up the nerve to purchase them."

Javert was glad he was done with breakfast. His throat seemed to have stopped working. Madeleine was not saying...no. He would never. The mayor would not...oh no. Please no.

"... _Caramel_ , you say?" Javert had seen the bakery as well, and its proprietor had never used caramel on any of the display pastries.

Madeleine did not bother suppressing a grin now. He indulged the query heartily: "I do say caramel. A nice, golden coat of it over both of the cakes, not too little, not too much. I had never considered caramel for a cake, but it sounds delightful! The color is pleasing, especially in contrast with the soft licorice. Ah, but perhaps I am being silly."

_Perhaps?!_

Javert tried to abort the metaphor by saying: "That is well. B-But as I said, I am not one for sweets."

"Perhaps these beauties would change your mind!", countered the mayor gleefully. "They certainly did for me. I usually reject sugar in favor of protein, but just the majesty of their size and shape...and firmness, if I am correct in inferring, well, it has me salivating!"

Salivating.

Sal-i-va-ting.

Javert thought of the rosary in his apartment and quickly prayed for the first time. He also tried to distract himself with thinking of where it was now, if the mayor had moved it here into the guestroom. But even asking about that would not deterr this conversation, would it? The horrifying image of his well-hidden and carefully built backside, made bare and presented for all of the city of Montreuil-sur-Mer to witness throughout the day, with the mayor standing by the window and sali-- _STOP IT, STOP IT NOW. THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE, ANYTHING._

It went without saying that Madeleine was picturing the exact same thing. There were two oddly-shaped cakes in the bakery, but they were cubic. Javert was making a face to remember if Madeleine needed to relieve tension in the middle of the night. Humiliated. Exposed. Helpless...helpless before the mayor, submissively sexualized before the man he beat in the galleys.

Madeleine crossed his legs. Javert looked to the window and wished the birds were still there, thankful that his crotch was buried in the silk blankets.

Anything else...anything. Anything?

Javert looked at the mayor's smug expression. An untouchable pervert, lawful and not even demanding anything of his inferior. 'Harmless'. Crossed legs, for no particular reason. This had to be who the man was all this time. Javert was subject to this man as part of an honorable payment of debt. And he was allowed to say what he pleased.

Anything.

"Actually...", said Javert, newly filled with peurile purpose, "Now that I think about it, I have seen those cakes. They displayed a week ago and are surely stale by now."

Madeleine frowned.

"They looked perfectly fresh to me." What was he doing? Whatever it was, it was not going to work.

"Ah, you have been tricked, Monsieur le Maire. Commonly, salesmen will display old products that have been made to look attractive to entice foolish customers. You may very well have been one of them, so you were wise to not purchase those cakes."

Madeleine dropped his left leg to the floor. So it was to be a game. Very well. Games were leisurely in and of themselves. But they had to be played fairly.

"Perhaps you are thinking of some other establishment. I pass by that bakery every day, and those items were not visible even in the back until today."

"Pardon my tone, Monsieur le Maire," said Javert while regretting the childish inflection, "but I doubt your observational skills. You missed one detail about those cakes. There was a broken and unusually large cherry that dripped all over the left cake. Or rather, left from the baker's perspective from inside the store."

_Amateur, Javert. That was amateur!_

"A cherry, you say?", continued Madeleine with feigned innocence. "Indeed, I did not notice that. Perhaps the baker had gotten rid of it after some random customer accidentally popped the cherry."

Javert suppressed a gag.

"...That...I imagine the baker had dropped it upon there by mistake. Call it intuition, if-if you like."

Madeleine felt that he had won the match. But at what cost? His prick had slithered out and swollen to its inconveniently large girth, making a noticeable distortion in the lines of his trousers. Javert very clearly noticed it.

Those doctors needed to get here early.

"But never mind the sweets of Montreuil. As you said, you should be shopping for protein."

_I did not just say that. I do not say things like that!_

Javert was speaking from another part of his brain. He was no longer in control. It was a part of him he had always denied...rude, callous, thoughtless, impulsive, and as he fearfully confirmed today...lewd. But he would never be whorish. He was not one of them! But still his tongue was to wag of its own free will, as his flesh was content to extend and stiffen beyond consent!

Madeleine froze. Another game, already? Could he tolerate the imagery flooding more blood into his horribly sensitive prick? Javert...was this the man beneath the hat the whole time?

_The mere thought of it..._

"P-Protein, you say?", warbled the mayor. "I wonder what you could mean." Lord forgive him this ill-advised game.

"Y-Yes, well, doubtless you pass by the butcher's on the way to the factory as well. I hope you were not swindled by that man as, erm, as well. He has this one trick to sway customers: a particularly swollen sausage that hangs next to a pair of large hams."

There was no going back now. Madeleine began salivating in earnest, while Javert seemed to be terrified of his own voice.

"Well, there is no need to pause. T-Tell me of this scoundrel's deceit."

"He, erm, he keeps the hams fresh, which is good, but the sausage is a subtle thing between them. People can easily spot it, as it has the look of being hidden between the hams, but it is very clearly visible to anybody who bothers to look."

Madeleine went bug-eyed. He made a note to buy longer coats, even though that was the most distant thought he had at the time. Javert was looking at him. Blue, critical, discerning eyes were evaluating him.

Both of them swallowed.

"I have a hard time imagining the deceit there, Inspector."

"Allow me to finish." Javert decided to just finish the story and have done with it. "Once people spot this obnoxiously thick sausage, they are drawn into the store to examine it in more detail. They scrutinize the shape of it, inquire the butcher for how fresh it is, and so on. The butcher then plays off their curiosity and makes to sell them meat that is either spoiled or soon to be spoiled, with purfume to disguise the rot. Meanwhile, the sausage remains impeccable and untouched, nothing but a spectacle to trick honest fools into buying bad meat."

"...Impeccable."

Javert, fully aware of the trembles of his lower body, nodded. He was close to drooling.

"The display is not at fault. The hams are delectable, and I believe that sausage is exchanged regularly to stay fresh and appealing. The only constant about that thing is how eye-catchingly fat it is."

"Well, thank you."

Madeleine lost this game.

"Pardon? Monsieur, I believe you are distracted. Were you listening to me?" Javert said this mechanically, his mental energy being used to slow down his breathing. Even the pressure of the boil was not enough to stifle the pleasantly dizzying heat that was swaddling him.

"...No, no, you see," Madeleine tried desperately to retort, "I visited this butcher before he started displaying the sausage of which you speak. I chatted with him and complimented his selection, saying he should put on more display pieces for business. Polite suggestions between salesmen, you see, even though I have more holy ambition..." Madeleine was blindsided by the sudden irony, as was Javert. "I am sure that this is why he started keeping his displays fresh. But of course, I had no idea he was using it this way."

The room fell uncomfortably silent. The air was stifling, forcing the mayor to loosen his cravat with his right index finger. Javert followed the motion with his eyes, and hopefully unconsciously licked his lips. Madeleine wanted to strangle him.

"The facts are the facts...that display would distract anybody from the right path, monsieur. It is designed to lower one's guard and inflict a lazy desire for...for succulent flesh."

Madeleine tried to take a deep breath instead of panting, but he was too far along. This game was going to get the best of him, and he already trembled from his pulsing prick on full display and dripping carelessly between the wool and his thighs.

Javert tried to close his eyes, but the display had already gotten his attention. It was even bigger than he remembered. If not handled carefully, it would undoubtedly damage the muscles trying to cleave it from stretching them too far. Terribly dangerous...

"Javert, I seem to...there was one other item I spied that appealed to me, in that butcher shop. A long, light brown sausage, lovingly cut to slide deep down the throat."

Javert groaned, and Madeleine added to it with his own.

"Sounds delicious. But...if you were still considering sweets, then I would recommend the buttercream cakes on the top left shelf. They are appetizing by sight alone, large and yet delicately contoured. Plus they are cheaper, because they go unappreciated by most."

Valjean had stuck his right hand into his trousers and squeezed his cock before pumping it as quietly as he could. As his vision began to blur, the best he could hope for was to make this all the more exquisite. He reveled in his seed already staining his underpants, and he felt the flood of pressure already starting to run through him and take over. Valjean knew that only one last idea would be digested before his slit widened enough to let it all rush at once.

Javert, meanwhile, had decided to slip his trousers down below his ass and let his own cock dribble on the silk. He started slowly pushing his hips against it, sliding up and down like an ape in heat. The sensation was making him delirious, forcing him to cover his mouth as he whimpered and moaned. Madeleine's own guttural noises only persuaded him to go further, to profane the room all the more.

They both lost.

"I...I thought you said you did not care for sweets."

Javert looked up to the dark-eyed mayor with buttercream skin and privately swore that he saw stars.

"I lied. They are my guilty pleasure."

For a few seconds that were neither brief nor prolonged, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world.

* * *

 

"I am pleased you got into the spirit of this endeavor! That game was a lot of fun, and in no small part thanks to you."

"I am glad you enjoyed it. Monsieur, I believe it would be wise to burn this silk sheet," suggested Javert. "It is covered in my sweat and, as you say, germs. It would not be good for me to stay upon it."

"Cleaning it will be enough, but you are wise to want the grime gone," agreed Madeleine. "If you wish to change clothes as well, then merely look in that drawer. You should have a second set in there, and the rest have been brought over to be decontaminated."

"Your kindness is wasted on me, Monsieur le Maire."

"Nonsense! It does my heart good to see a defender of justice treated right."

"Ah, if that is what you wish, then your will be done. I would like to change. I will hand off the sheet afterward."

"Understood. I will be returning to the factory now. I am feeling inspired about this well situation, funnily enough!"

"That is well! Your city will benefit from it."

"Indeed, indeed. You can hand the sheet and clothes to me instead of Victor. I still have trouble finding gloves that fit him."

"Understood. Good day, Monsieur le Maire."

"And to you."

Five minutes after this exchange and the resulting attire change, Javert buried his face in the remaining silk sheet and groaned as the only way to articulate his misery. The pursuit for words to describe any of this was proven to be completely pointless. No words would undo what had happened. And on top of it all, now he had the most horrid craving for sausage and cake.

...Wait.

"My first time was with a silk sheet."

Javert wrapped himself in the clean sheet and took deep breaths. This meant nothing. It was all imagination. He had only committed indecency upon himself, and the mayor was free to do as he pleased. All was well.

He felt his withered prick spot more seed on his new set of clothes. He pretended it was sweat.

* * *

 

Madeleine strode up to his factory with the widest grin that ever stretched his mouth. He kept his hands together as he spoke to his workers about the coming winter break. A lot of them wanted to keep working for more pay, and he obliged those that did. More income and more opportunites to spread the Lord's love was a good thing, and who was he to discourage hard work?

Jean Valjean walked up to his office and closed the door. He looked at his clenched hands and, in the name of indulgence, licked the semen from the silk sheet off of them like a child with salty frosting. Today was going to be a good day.


	6. Chapter 6

 

As the church bells tolled for the end of the factory workday, Madeleine le Maire wearily set his pen down in the ink reservoir. The buzz from Javert's unexpected sexuality had faded some time ago, although the buzz from that sentence actually reverberating in the mayor's head was quickly takings its place. He never anticipated getting this far this soon!

Still, that gorgeous warmth had served its purpose. The wells that were leaking dirt into the aquifer were long since sealed firmly, and Madeleine decided once and for all to leave them be instead of restoring them. As for the logistics of where to dig new wells, the newfound lucidity that followed that afternoon's 'tension release' told him to trust his own judgment as opposed to where the bourgeois or plebians or whoever had some argument to pose. He made plans for four replacement wells to be dug away from the center of the city in a square formation (one to the left the bank, one behind the church, one in front of a reputable apartment complex, and one to the right of the horse stables). That way, they were easily spotted by onlookers, called upon well enough, not overrun by pedestrian flow, and fairly compromising the biased demands by all parties involved. It would work, and he had put it to effect with the well diggers and went to addressing other complaints. Now it was time to go home.

If only the laborers didn't try to put it off until the snow melted...that would be capital.

Madeleine found himself walking down the marketplace when saw Doctor Nui rushing up to him, looking stricken with worry and holding a bottle of clear fluid. This kind of sight was not good for the mayor's nerves. What on earth could make the man so stressed? Everything was fine, unless...oh, that was silly to think, because...oh dear.

"M-Monsieur le Maire!", gasped the doctor between pants, left hand pressed against the chest. "I must give this to you. It is for the Inspector."

As Madeleine parsed the words the doctor spoke, he found his mind split in two. In one part, he was curious as to how his journey of mental broadening had failed to account for incidences like this. Here was a professional medicine man, clearly trying to make up for negligence from the prior day, and Madeleine was neither aware of any negligence nor currently capable of wielding the proper method of permanently eliminating the source of said negligence. In the other part, he was trying not to raise the gifted bottle and smash it over the man's head. To resolve this dissonance, he decided to keep up appearances.

"You never informed me of any additional medicine." Nui grimaced.

"Monsieur, I have shamed my position. I allowed my dislike of that man to cloud my thinking. Although, if you had to examine Javert's hindquar--"

"I did not ask for your excuse." Mostly, he wanted to stay on topic, but if Madeleine managed to discourage pettiness from the doctor, then that was well.

"Y-Yes, pardon, I...well, I should tell you what needs to happen." Madeleine nodded curtly. "I realized this morning that the Inspector's fever would only come back if the illness isn't crippled soon. I had the apothecary mix this, and it's quite a powerful concoction. That salve I gave you will help for keeping it away once it finally goes, but it is useless right now. He needs to drink this to purge the sickness from the inside out. He should take a couple swigs of this today, and starting tomorrow have him take a spoonful of it every twelve hours. That should keep him under control for...the help you enlisted."

Madeleine noted the sour expression on the doctor's face and raised his eyebrows. Nui immediately adopted a guilty expression in its place.

"Thank you for getting this to me," said Madeleine. "I will make sure Javert drinks it. Oh, but can it be broken with water?"

"A-ah, he can drink water after the doses if so you mean. I should have gotten this to you before, so I can get a refill for you when you need, free of charge. If you were unsure, this bottle is also free. Please forgive my poor behavior, Monsieur le Maire."

...Well. Madeleine had no need of correcting any negligence today. As long as Javert made good with Nui, then all would be well on this front.

"Take care to behave more appropriately with your other patients."

"Absolutely! Good evening, monsieur." Nui bowed and started a brisk pace back from where he came.

Madeleine pocketed the bottle and kept walking home. Now he faced a curious issue. Hopefully this medicine would curb the illness, but that would risk Javert possibly leaving the mairie far too soon. He imagined Javert would either still want the other doctors to see to him, or that he would try to keep them away to absolve the debt. Which would it be? It would not do for the doctors to dismiss both Javert and--

Panic gripped the mayor, even hotter and more flustering than that moment four months ago. This exercise must not fail. If he only had three more days at the earliest, then he would have to make every day count. Oh, only three days! He would have to push the next phase of the plan forward; there was no other way. Hopefully the Inspector would be forthcoming enough.

He finally arrived at the mairie when he saw Victor leaving with a small stack of papers. Upon making eye contact with him, Madeleine saw him start and scramble to renew the grip on the...Madeleine peered at them...police report papers? From yesterday? Oh, what now?!

"What is the meaning of this?", demanded Madeleine with too much aggression. Victor's face drained of blood right in front of Madeleine, making himself feel slightly nauseated. Seeing distress like that, as it was happening, struck a horrible chord with him. He had witnessed prisoners wither in the same way, for any number of reasons. "Calm down and explain why you have yesterday's report."

"...Monsieur le Maire, you said that I was to accommodate the Inspector as he wished!"

"Yes. But stay focused. Why do you have the report?" As soon as he asked the question, the answer became apparent to him, and he resisted rolling his eyes. His agenda for tonight was already laid out for him. He hoped Javert remembered not to touch the paper.

"W-Well, he wanted to know the crime report, so he had me run down to the station and borrow a copy of it. People are gossiping about you and him, you know. A-Anyway, he also wanted today's report, but I would have to wait a few hours, and he was getting moody. Maybe you could calm him down or something? I only seem to make things worse..."

Seeking out work by proxy and getting irritable. Perhaps a massage would do the trick. Madeleine liked the idea.

"Take the report back and come straight here afterwards. Chief Inspector Rousseau will deliver today's report to me when the time is right."

Victor sighed, as if a large weight were lifted from his shoulders. Such a nervous boy! Perhaps if Javert were younger, then presenting reports to the mayor would have him resemble Victor. That was a theory worth testing, especially if that anxiety--wait. Gossip?

"I finished cleansing Javert's clothes and started dinner. It should be ready in half an hour."

"Excellent. Off you go." Victor obeyed. Whatever was being said about this was surely harmless. No one knew anything except that Javert distrusted medicine and trusted the mayor.

Madeleine finally entered the house and took a brief moment to enjoy the smell of chicken fricassee from the kitchen. Of the new foods he had sampled, it had quickly become a favorite of his. Frivolous with sauce and yet hearty. Javert would learn to like it.

And as he came to Javert's room...

"...treasonous management! A few coins, and they are let loose to break the Code once more! Ah, my illness...if I would not infect that airheaded fool, then I would smack him upside the head! There will be hell to pay!"

This massage was going to have to be a good one. Madeleine cracked his knuckles, and the sound was apparently piercing enough to stop Javert from continuing the rant. Madeleine politely knocked on the door and entered without a word. No word, except:

"If you are speaking of the fine system, then I would thank you not to insult my newest idea."

Javert wore nothing but a shirt and underpants, and his hair was even more ragged than this morning. The man needed a bath. As for the traumatized look in his eyes, it would pass with enough time and care.

"...Monsieur le Maire, surely you jest. The Code must be obeyed at all cost! You know this!" A subtle narrowing of the eyes, as Valjean feared. He had to speak quickly.

"At all 'cost', you say? Funny that you chose that word. The State decided that it would make fair coin if a small city like Montreuil-sur-Mer were to make a test of a fine system. I was pleased when they honored my request, and I set it to effect yesterday."

Now Javert's blood drained from his face. Valjean tried to suppress the rise of his gorge, ironic though the sight was.

"Why? Monsieur, this reeks of...Monsieur, I...I will speak of it later. I can no longer bear this arrangement."

No.

"That is not for you to decide," said the mayor after clearing his throat.

"I know, please pardon me." Javert bowed gingerly, and Madeleine could hardly help a hint of pity for how pained it looked. "But, I must insist upon this for my own sanity. I wish to be of use to you, not as a lifeless vegetable. And this experiment of yours will ruin me if it continues."

"Explain." He hated how angry it sounded, but his emotions refused to be collared.

"I am a simple man, as you should have supposed by now," Javert began. "I prefer to handle my career with one case at a time. Since this is not a case itself, I should say one event at a time, if you will. I...how do I say this?...I _perceive_ my experiences _within_ these events one at a time, and so that arrangement is good for me. This stay in your house has been several experiences at once, and I fear I will burst from the strain! _Let me do anything else but this! This is monstruous! Please let me free!_ "

At once, his path was clear, and thus his fear was abated. No more wasted time.

"Javert, poor Javert...shed your shirt, and come lie on the bed." He wanted to bathe the man, but he needed as little chance for resistance as possible.

"Monsieur, I will not play another--"

"Shhh..." Madeleine put a finger upon Javert's chin, gloved from the spare pair at the factory. "I hear your plight. You wish for this to happen one event at a time. I ask you to lie on the bed, and I will tend to your stress, by no game. You need not worry about anything else."

Javert sighed miserably yet obeyed, slowly padding over to the bed and resting on his stomach.

"It is unlike you to beg for anything. Now please, you will have to put your full faith in me right now." Madeleine stretched the muscles in his hands, but more significantly, he softened his voice to a soothing murmur. "Empty your mind. Forget the troubles of the day. I will handle them, and you may relax in my home, dear Inspector."

Javert lifted his head to look at Madeleine. The fellow looked as if he were undergoing temptation by the Devil, slowly eating away at resolve until there was nothing left. But that was by design. He gently pushed Javert's head back onto the bed; Javert was probably too drained to say anything regardless.

"Listen to my voice. Empty your mind, and just listen to my voice. The tones I echo and the words I speak are all that is."

Jean began to press his hands into the caramel skin, below the shoulder blades and perpendicular to Javert as a whole. His temperature felt stable, so he could thankfully wait to administer the medicine. Severe knots in the muscle were in most of every possible place, as he expected. With the experience that he gained from doing this five times before, he set his fingers to undoing them one by one.

"Everything is just fine. You can trust me. I am here to help you."

Javert almost began to squirm under the gentle touch, but Jean steadied him with a firm left hand, while the right was still undoing knots. With each one, however, Javert's breathing became slower, deeper. Soon Jean could relax the muscles in earnest.

"You have a lot of tension in your back. You must be stiff when you wake up in the morning. I used to have the same problem."

Jean heard a soft whimper, and it was a well sound. His prick jumped at it. He calmed himself by swirling his fingers into the last of the knots, his own breathing becoming easier as the familiar suppleness of lax flesh started to respond to his hands.

"There we go...you should start feeling much better."

Jean shifted his position to have his hands parallel to Javert and now began digging into Javert's back, deliberately and deeply kneading it as he remembered doing so before. His rough, prison-hardened hands were an asset here, allowing him to easily manipulate the back muscles to his every whim. Perhaps too quickly, perhaps not quickly enough, the rhythm of the massage set the swinging pendulum of his mind to tick once every two seconds, in deference to his hands as they rebounded to grip the flesh anew. Tick, tock, press, tick, tock, press. Only rarely did this rhythm get faster or slower, since Jean had abandoned his lucidity to be guided by the rhythm, meaning he needed to keep it consistent for the spell to stay strong.

The only thought he dared entertain was whether Javert would make one desperate attempt to resist, throw him off, decry him as a criminal trying to manipulate an honorable policeman. But perhaps this rhythm was guiding Javert as well. Jean and Javert mostly inhaled and exhaled at the same time now, only failing when Javert tensed toward his neck, as if he were trying to stifle a sound. Jean suspected that, as his hands continued to smother the bed of muscles in Javert's back, he leaned into it, the motion of which forced him to recollect some of his position. His hands were moving all around his back, but never too far south, which was fortunate. He needed to keep this massage from reaching too close to the man's bottom, or it would all be for naught.

_Right there in front of me, inches from my grasp...he must deliberately maintain that bulk in those cheeks. This boil is a rotten shame. No, forgo your temptation for now. Think! They taught you this, over and over again: When faced with emotion, think to control it! Think...what is Javert thinking? What could a relaxed Javert think, if at all? But I told him to empty his mind...but I doubt that he would have done so completely. Javert is too proud...is he not? Self-preservational? Scared?_

_I have no idea. Just who is this man? I have absolutely no idea. Well, no wonder he scares me by the mere sight of him._

_'I am a simple man', he said. 'I perceive my experiences...one at a time', he said. What does that mean? Can he not grasp the concept of pleasure, even when he is faced with it, like this afternoon...ah, what a game! But, but that, oh dear, I gave him pleasure when I have only the slightest idea of how he would react. It was only by chance that he enjoyed it, oh, but he was enthralled! As was I. But what was he thinking, under all of those words? Now that_ I _think about it, I truly have no idea._

Javert moaned softly.

_Oh sweet Lord, this is going to ruin me. That voice is musical when soft, or at least to me. I doubt others would appreciate the nuances of this voice. I had no choice but to appreciate it, and I observe myself clearly having no choice now. I need restraint! I have it, I have it, I have it. I am employing it right now. Right now! I am thinking...thinking of what Javert thinks, yes, I remember._

"Chabouillet..." It was a whisper of a name, but Jean recognized it instantly.

_What? The secretary to the Prefect of Police, in Paris, but what? Why on earth would Javert be thinking of that now? Oh, this will not do; I need access to his mind. If this experiment is to be saved, then I need to know how he works internally. And my time is limited, oh me, not much time at all. I need to engage him. Yes...he is relaxed now. I can feel it. Javert relaxed...what a concept, what a feeling to witness it. These emotions cannot be described; they crash into each other. Or can they? They seem clearer now that I address them. Relief was one of them, doubtlessly, and compassion, yes I had the same unwillingness when they tended to me, and...erm, lust. Enough of that. But I love this feeling. I will recreate it, within reason._

"Monsieur, I am finished."

...Trust Javert to call off a massage like that. Or should that be trusted? The man said it, so it had to be so.

?

"I am perfectly willing to keep going, if you would like more," answered Madeleine.

"I said that I am finished." Javert was regaining his stern tone, but it was still colored by deep calm.

Madeleine relented and shed his gloves, tossing them into the bucket in the corner of the room. When was that bucket last cleaned? He supposed that would have to wait until the contagion was clear, by order of practicality. Javert slowly moved to sit up, making Madeleine preemptively wince from sympathy, but Javert was leaning on his left side. He had not forgotten his illness, although the face he made suggested that he had forgotten his pain and suddenly recalled it. Forgotten...

Madeleine instinctually patted his coat pockets and rediscovered the bottle of medicine. That explained the occasional thump he felt against his left thigh. Javert visibly puzzled, but that would be cured. No more time would be wasted.

"I need you to take two swigs of this. It will help curb your illness."

Javert eyed the bottle, then eyed the mayor, and then eyed the bottle again...

"Ah, I meant only for tonight." Lord preserve him and Javert through this chaos, if only so he could remember basic instructions. "Your normal doses will be smaller, one tablespoon every twelve hours. I know you have no memory of that salve, but you can take comfort in it no longer being necessary."

And thereafter eyed the hands gripping the bottle, the window behind him, the mayor, his own navel, the bottle again...

"It is medicine," teased Madeleine.

"If Monsieur le Maire would stop mocking me!" But Javert did not sound angry. How he sounded instead was...well, that needed further investigation. These non-categorical motions and sounds were subject to new inquiry. One day into this experiment, and Madeleine was already making discoveries.

Madeleine decided to clarify, as Javert made no motion for the bottle, categorical or otherwise: "Nui sought me out today and re-examined your illness. He decided that you need to take an oral antibiotic instead. This is what he prescribed." Testing the currently weak theory of the Inspector's mind, Madeleine added: "At no charge."

Javert narrowed his eyes and quirked his lips in a wry frown. Hopefully that was only contemplation and not conspiracy; but then again, that may very well be one and the same with the man in question. Javert's curiosity unexpectedly triggered Madeleine's own, leading him to open the bottle to smell it. But as soon as he brought the bottle up to his nose--

"Monsieur, that is for me!"

Javert hurriedly threw out a hand to receive it, sounding intensely worried. What did the man think was going to happen? Nui would not prescribe anything that had odor powerful enough to...make a man pass out. Ah. Contemplation and conspiracy, the marriage too easily made. Madeleine was partly pleased that the Inspector wanted to protect him, but for the other part...Nui was a doctor. With no clear motive! He handed the bottle to the patient, pleased at having at least succeeded in that task. Everything was an investigation with him.

Unless, of course, he was being massaged...or playing a game. Madeleine saw Javert looking intently at the bottle - therefore not at his mayor - and smirked.

Javert pulled the cap off the bottle, held it away from his face for some reason, and waved his free left hand over the open neck. His nose was scrunched up...so he must have been testing for odor? Or maybe he was having an unpleasant thought?

"...Odorless. Many a few--"

"Stop what you are going to say and listen to me." Enough was enough. Javert could go bug-eyed all he wanted. "No matter what you think of Doctor Nui, he is not a saboteur or a murderer. There is no need to doubt the medicine he gave you. Just drink it."

Javert blinked a few times, and then pensively gazed at the medicine in his hands. With one last look at Madeleine (who raised his eyebrows), Javert overdramatically rolled his eyes and took a swig of it. He did not appear pleased with the taste. Seven seconds later, he took another. Once he was done, he made a constipated face at the mayor, put the cap back on the bottle, handed it back, and rubbed his face with his hands. All of this happened with Javert leaning toward his left side.

"The man touched my backside," offered Javert feebly. "I never even thought I trusted the man, but I trusted him further than that. I hardly know what to think anymore."

Now the mayor rolled his eyes. But all the same, he had to pity the man.

"Dignity is for the healthy, Inspector. This had to happen one way or another."

Javert took a deep, rattling sigh and closed his eyes. Madeleine echoed the motion to relieve his own tension. Perhaps closing his eyes in and of itself reminded him of what he wanted to ask. Perhaps his thoughts were becoming unmeshed. He had never thought of why those sparks of insight came to life. In any case:

"You said 'Chabouillet' during your massage. I cannot imagine why, it was so odd!"

"Pardon?"

"Just as I said."

"...Chabouillet. Ah." Madeleine was starting to wonder why he bothered to ask. "I was merely contemplating, if I had to report this like a high-profile case to the Prefect, how on earth I would describe these experiences. It was silly, but I hardly meant to say it in the first...place, what on earth is so funny?"

What was so funny about it?! Madeleine laughed even harder at that question which made the absurd Inspector even more so. If he failed to hear that question, he would have thought it was a joke! What a queer mind! But it was charming in its queerness, or at least it was capable of being so. Madeleine eventually calmed enough to answer.

"Always a man of duty, Inspector. I beg your pardon, but that took me by surprise." Another bubble of mirth burst from within. "Rest assured, your duty is being fulfilled here, but I believe the Prefect's secretary would just as soon not know the details."

Javert did not join the mirth. Quite the opposite, he seemed to grow extremely concerned.

"Javert?"

"That is my name." Now that had to be a joke. Right? What else could it be?

"What troubles you, Javert?"

Javert grimaced to the floor, as if he truly did not know. At least Madeleine was not alone, if that was the case. After far too long of a time the mayor failed to define:

"You would have this be my duty? To receive your care without complaint?"

...Only Javert would ask a question like that. No matter how perplexing the man was, Madeleine knew this beyond a doubt.

"...Yes, Inspector. This convalescence is your duty, as is accepting my personal care. I believe it will expand your mind, and that could only help you in your work." It felt absurdly impersonal to state it this way, but then again, Valjean had to say the same thing to himself to let the Pharaoh's Tomb's generosity be bestowed upon him. Four months later, and he was on the other side altogether. Wow.

Javert looked deeply puzzled as he asked: "Expand my mind, you say? You believe some strange things, Monsieur le Maire, but...if I am to perform this new duty, then I must ask. What precisely do you mean by expanding my mind?"

Good question! The fact that this question was asked was even better!

"You will see as this goes along. But for now," he quickly added as he saw Javert pull a fearful face, "perhaps this will sate your curiosity. I am going to give you a prompt for discussion. It may seem strange, but decadence goes much further than pleasure of the body. Pleasure of the mind is crucial, dwelling over ideas to grasp them more clearly. This discussion we will have, I would say after the entourage from Paris arrives and performs its duty, will be bent toward perfect understanding of the prompt. In the meantime, I want you to carefully consider it."

Without missing a beat, Javert asked: "What is this prompt?!" The tone was anxious rather than curious. That was fine. Madeleine had the perfect prompt for this man. He was giddy with the novelty of it when he discovered it one week ago, thoroughly entertaining himself with the stumped reaction of the Inspector...and, hopefully, the start of change. Perhaps it was merely hope for hope's sake, but it would be powerful nonetheless.

"I want you to ponder upon this question: why do laws change?"

Javert's expression was one of pure, categorical bewilderment at his mayor.

"Do not strain yourself on it for tonight. You have a couple of days to find an answer."

From beyond the door, Madeleine heard Victor shout something.

"Ah! Dinner should be ready soon. Some peace and quiet at last."

Javert took a sigh of delirious relief; even an observer like Madeleine could infer that. But as he saw Javert sag into the bed, he remembered the last item on the itinerary that had slipped away from him.

"But first, we need to change your gauze."

Javert sagged all the way into the bed and wrapped himself in the silk sheet like a cocoon. Madeleine did not blame him in the slightest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!
> 
> This is the gross chapter, toward the end. Don't say I didn't warn you. And it's real. This grossness inspired me to write this story.
> 
> I am dead serious.

 

At a quarter to seven o'clock, upon an especially chilly Thursday morning, Javert was sure he had arrived at the correct answer for the question. What else could it be? The true puzzle of the matter was why the question was posed in the first place. As he and the mayor finished their breakfast (thankfully free of cake, sausage, and whatever else), he cleared his throat to declare it:

"About last night's question, Monsieur le Maire. Any one law would change if the crown sees fit to do so, probably upon consultation with the Chambers of Peers and Deputies. But since the Napoleonic Code is respected by the crown, there is no plausible reason why any change would be made. The question is moot."

Madeleine sighed and collected Javert's plate. He knew this would happen, and the response was readily made, even mechanical:

"You are approaching the question inappropriately. That is _how_ laws change, not _why_ laws change. Keep thinking upon this until Saturday, as I said before."

Javert felt an indignant rebuttal rush out of him as he furrowed his brow: "Then, what on earth could you mean by why they change?"

Madeleine smiled sadly as he felt a lofty reply rumbling up from his stomach: "If I told you that, then this would be far too easy, silly man!" Far too easy? What a ridiculous lie. "Take your time and dwell upon it. Change your answer if necessary. Change it three or five or eleven times! The point of this is to _learn_ as you think. Now, I will see you around dinnertime. Ah, yes, that reminds me: I should be able to tend to you more often starting next week. So much city management done so quickly, I am tickled pink! Just in time as well, thankfully. God be praised for prosperity! A-Anyway, keep well, Javert."

The door shut behind the mayor, as if it permitted its owner to commit such baffling acts with nothing more than a squeak of metal hinges that needed to be oiled soon.

Javert was transfixed by the swelter of embarrassment running through him. This was a new unpleasantness. He had engaged the mayor in wits for something so simple, and he was rendered clueless. Not morality, not logistics or enforcing the law, but a simple question with a simple answer. Needless to say, it was irritating, but he felt as if he had underperformed somehow. But how could he have seen that coming?!

'How' instead of 'why'? Change answers several times?! Was that really how the mayor thought, trading one answer for another? Did the truth simply elude him, or was this a trick as part of another game? Either way...he had missed the agenda the mayor set, and Javert would not tolerate being obtuse or being thrown off course. Or rather, more off course than he already was. Off course...this was his new course, but it was so far off his normal way of life.

It was all the mayor's fault. It was all Javert's fault. It would all be Victor's fault if Javert felt spiteful enough. But he did not. He was better than that. For now.

Two subdued knocks on the door.

"I have plenty of gauze."

"Thank sweet baby Jesus," answered Victor. The boy could 'blaspheme' all he wanted: if the mayor was offended by words of all things, then that was a weakness that could all too easily be purged. Probably. Possibly.

He had no idea, actually.

As the topic of gauze was dismissed, Javert nevertheless failed to repress the urge to shift upon his stomach on the bed, deliberately pressing the bizarre white cloth between the taut folds of his buttocks that clamped upon it into new positions, almost always keeping it secure no matter how he assembled himself. Curiosity was a luxury, and now he was to partake of luxury, so it was just as well. And it was more curious than he had anticipated! He knew convicts could hide items up their rectums, but he never thought about the sheer pressing force of the glutes. He was glad he found exercises to develop them, and not just for endurance on patrol.

Now he only needed to get that image of item-hiding rectums out of his mind. Why did he do that? Why, Javert?

Javert decided to stretch and exercise as best he could. But the haunting image remained, gradually becoming more specific. Murderers hiding switchblades. Thieves hiding lockpicks. Jean Valjean hiding...

Javert had to lie on the bed for five minutes until he could stop laughing. What an odd place for a loaf of bread. That completely ruined the utility of the bread as well!

"...I am going insane. Not two days into this, and I have lost my goddamn mind."

He would have to forfeit his mind, somehow, someway. He would have to settle for the sounds of the mayor's home, just until he could start working again. Ah...pursuit once again! Cornering! Finally arresting the good-for-nothing of the city! Even sentencing, when discretion was allowed. He missed it too dearly. His brains would melt in here, no matter how dense the frigid piles of snow became outside.

*Creak*

Seven o'clock on the dot. Javert took a spoonful of the medicine that tasted like urine mixed with a prisoner's armpit. If it proved to be ineffective against this infection, Javert could hardly imagine what he would want to do. But to be fair, it was better than than dirty well water from a month ago.

"Why do laws change...?" He then gagged at the aftertaste, a subtle hint of some vegetable that was probably exterminated by human hands for tasting excessively bitter. Hopefully this was an acquired taste, or perhaps Javert could learn to swallow it without the liquid hitting his tongue. Either way, this ritual of imbibing human sin had to change.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Madeleine made a decision: he had called the workers who wanted to keep working through the winter aside, paid them for the time they would have worked, and told them to stay home with the others for the winter. Most of the ladies were overcome by the gesture, with a few nonchalantly chalking it up to the mayor's proven personality of charity. Madeleine himself reflected on it as one of the lessons from the Pharaoh's Tomb: perform works for selfish as well as holy reasons. The peace he found from that lifestyle was undeniable. The ladies were paid and safe to live through the winter, and that warmed his heart well enough.

But mostly, he wanted the factory closed for the winter so he could worry about his task at home.

* * *

 

Fortunately or unfortunately, no one could say by this point, the events of the mairie began to blur up until the arrival of the medical team. A precedent of choking down medicinal doses, wordless massages, useless conversation, Madeleine teasing Javert, and Javert emasculating Victor went unchallenged by Madeleine. Perhaps this was in anticipation of the big day or in the name of keeping the Inspector from insanity by means of routine. Madeleine and Javert both seemed to agree, and acknowledge, that it was both.

Victor seemed to be grateful that his cooking was well-received and learned a subtle pleasure in forcing Javert to make more creative retorts. "You would drown in your own urine if the mayor let you, clumsy boy" was an amusing one. He never figured the Inspector to use piss for a joke, but who knew anything about the man, really?

For all of these domesticities, Javert sensed a strong undercurrent of tension in the mayor and his servant. But Javert was the one being intimately examined soon. What did they care? Well, if it were important, he was sure it would come to light as the doctors came to town.

* * *

 

Javert made no progress whatsoever.

* * *

 

The doctors came to town.

About half an hour before noon on Saturday, Madeleine heard a very familiar series of knocks on his front door. He had a private room in the leisure club that was protected by a sturdy, sound-blocking door. All of the employees were taught the same three rhythmic raps in order to be heard as well as to gently rouse the clients. Victor had abandoned it, but the boy shivered as he heard the knock patented by none other than the club's founder and chief medic.

Madeleine knew he should have greeted them as they came to the city, but he had to finish the last of the municipal decisions for the month. He was already running uphill to make a good impression. He opened the door to see five well-dressed gentlemen that looked slightly displeased.

"Ah, Doctor Faro!", greeted the mayor warmly, using the nickname the man had chosen to enforce their familiarity. "I am thrilled you were not delayed."

"As are we all," answered the doctor with a frown. "We scarcely remember taking carriage rides longer than fifteen minutes or so."

Victor laughed nervously. Madeleine had no choice but to join. He turned his head to send a glare that said You are not helping.

"Come in, come in!" The mayor ushered the doctors into the vestibule, but he found that they were already sidestepping Victor and heading upstairs. All five of them were impatient, two of them holding fat purses that undoubtedly held supplies. They had come to do their work talk with their old client later. "A-Ah, yes, as you guessed, he is upstairs waiting."

Breathe. They will be understanding. Just present your case as well as you can.

"I read the note this Nui character wrote," Faro stated from the top of the stairs. Madeleine followed behind the entourage as he listened. "I have a feeling that his diagnosis was incorrect."

"O-Oh?", reacted Madeleine. _Based on what?_ he decided not to ask.

"Indeed. This Inspector of yours, he's the son of a fortune teller, right? Rides a horse?"

"...Yes." Why would either of those matter?

"It matters in a way that should become clear," Faro answered as he knocked on the door to Javert's room. How he picked the right one was the least of Madeleine's concerns.

_Of course he can read minds. His powers defy explanation._

"Inspector! Are you suitable? We want to assess you straight away."

Javert already felt the urge to writhe out of nerves, but he took comfort in the leather shoes against the upstairs floor and took a deep breath.

"I am ready for diagnosis." This was the largest group of people in front of which he would be literally bare-ass naked. Even the guards present at his birth had the decency to give his mother her own room for it. Or that was what they told him, anyway.

Doctor Faro opened the door and stepped in the room, brandishing a pair of long-fingered hands that were thinly gloved. One of the associates passed him one of the bags, and no more time was spent in preparation.

"If Monsieur l'Inspecteur would forgive me," said Faro as he spread the man's cheeks apart and removed the gauze.

"I just want this gone."

"Good attitude. Let me see here..."

Madeleine saw the elderly doctor prod the buttocks of his Chief Inspector and felt oddly violated himself. Perhaps it was misplaced possessiveness. Perhaps it was empathy. Perhaps it was Victor lurking behind him and standing far too close. He nudged the boy and had him walk into the room, wherein Victor stood in a corner like a statue. Madeleine knew how intimidating the bunch could be, but he felt that was unnecessary, even for someone as nervous as him.

Faro pulled something out of the Inspector's ass, causing the latter to grimace.

"Just as I thought."

"...Ah?"

"Victor, I suggest you leave."

Victor left as quickly as he came in, without any question as to why. The other four doctors left as well, probably to go downstairs and sit in the lounge. Faro made no fuss about it, so neither did anyone else.

"What is it?"

"Do you have a strong stomach, Monsieur le Maire?"

"...Ah, yes." He would have died in Toulon if he didn't.

"Are you listening, Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"

"Mmhmm..."

"Alright. This," Faro said as he held up the bloody, slimy item, "is hair. Inspector Javert has no boil as most people understand it. He has the bane of more than a few of my patients and hairy-bottomed men everywhere: a nest of pus and years of hair growth that burrowed into his buttocks."

Madeleine heard Victor pad away from behind the door. Now the upstairs was going to smell like vomit.

"...I see."

"As his caretaker, I hope you mean that. Come over here."

Javert closed his eyes and pretended that he was going through old case files. Madeleine had to admit feeling a little queasy as he kneeled to observed what Faro was demonstrating. Toulon never made him pull hair out of a man's behind, if nothing else.

"Since this man has Gypsy blood and is an equestrian, this was only a matter of time. The trauma of horseriding hits his pelvis and may vibrate the hair upon it to drill into his skin along here. His people are notoriously hairy, especially on his back, goodness me! Did you glue a wolf to your back, Inspector?"

Javert made a weak chuckle that turned into a weaker whine. Poor fellow, even more so now.

_He treated me like filth for years._

_That was years ago, and he is mine now. He will never do it again, if nothing else. That is all that matters._

"You could hide anything in there. Anyway, you see these pits, monsieur? An infection could make the skin thin, but these holes were made by the burrowing hair. If you press on them," He did so, and blood briskly shot from them. "The body shoots blood out to try and keep illness at bay. Since the glutes are oppositional and constantly in use, this means a noteworthy amount of blood loss. I bet our dear Inspector has felt dizzy more than once, illness or no illness."

Madeleine nodded helplessly. Javert just let the man's voice wash over him.

"We will have to operate."

Javert pushed himself up on his hands.

"I demand to know any alternative--"

"No, there is none. Lie down."

...Javert obeyed.

"We need to operate because these pits have grown skin around the hair; they will not close with that skin layer in the way. Now, you two have a choice here. There is a permanent solution where we would remove this entire section of skin and leave it to heal over some months. This would leave a gaping hole where the man's seat would be, so he would be unsuitable for work for a very long time."

"What's the other?", asked Javert.

"Well, the other method would only work with due diligence. We would cut a pouch right here," Faro motioned along the left side of Javert's cleft, which did not seem arousing at this point in time, "and pull everything out. This bulb right here would be drained, and we would leave the pouch open to let additional fluid seep out over...three to five weeks, it depends on the man, I've found. The incision would heal naturally, and the skin we would cut in the pits would allow them to finally heal. You, Inspector, would be out of work for a month or so, but it would certainly be less painful than the first method."

"I elect this method," decided Javert. Madeleine felt that it was a wise decision. A massive hole in his own backside, as he imagined it, seemed a method of torture that the guards might have imagined.

_One month...one month of bleeding and oozing fluid in Monsieur le Maire's home. What has my life become?_

"Very well. Monsieur le Maire, I assume that you will take responsibility for his recovery."

"Yes."

"Then you will probably be the one to shave him."

"...Pardon?" Madeleine was hesitant to accept the statement as reality. It was too good to be true. Javert visibly became tense.

"We need to keep his backside hair from burrowing into the skin again. Monsieur l'Inspecteur will need to be shaved in this area, once his skin has healed enough to handle the razor, ah...I would say twice a week."

"Twice a week?!"

"Twice a week...!" His prick slithered happily down his trousers, poking its head to hear the news all the clearer.

"Twice a week, messieurs. You cannot allow this hair to burrow again. Now, there is one possible way to circumvent this, but I wouldn't recommend it until he's fully healed. Basically, you would cauterize the cleft to make sure nothing could ever grow there again. If you are curious about it, we can discuss it when there is less on the agenda."

Madeleine flinched. He had felt a brand on his chest...but on his ass? To stave off a medical condition? He could find no comparable event in his life. Javert was in uncharted territory now.

"I am in deep shit now."

"Language, Javert."

"Indeed you are, monsieur," ignored Faro. "If you would rather be quick about this, the lighting is well enough that we could shave you and operate in about half an hour. But monsieur may need to fetch me a better candle than that one I see on the table. As bright as it is today, this area is still very dark!"

"...If Monsieur le Docteur would be so prompt."

"Monsieur le Maire?", asked Faro.

Madeleine shrugged in acquiescence. Why not now, really? This day had already been traumatic, so it was well to get it over with in one fell swoop.

"Very well! Monsieur, I will dose you with some chloroform and then shave you. You will wake up after we have finished."

"I have never anticipated being unconscious so eagerly," drawled Javert. Madeleine would have requested it if Faro did not offer it.

Suddenly, the doctor turned to Madeleine with a cold glare.

"Madeleine, now you should go meet with them. I will join you shortly."

Valjean felt his stomach drop.

* * *

 

"So this is the one you picked? The absolute worst choice? This is a failure waiting to happen."

The mayor swallowed his excess saliva and shook his head, which was already trembling slightly. Three minutes later, and they finally started speaking about it. He was never so scared of five old men in tailored suits, not since this all started. Never mind the fact that he was an old man in a tailored suit. Sometimes.

"It makes perfect sense, really it does. I know this is a difficult first choice, but the opportunity was handed to me. I will see this through, and I will succeed."

The doctors harrumphed, shifting on the sofa and adjusting vests as cravats as desired. Oh, why draw it out?! What was necessary with this torment of delaying the inevitable answer: yes, you will live in peace, or no, you will succumb to fate?

The third from the left (Valjean forgot the name) spoke next: "Clearly, we need to stress to you the gravity of this experiment. If you failed with a normal patient, then your escapades in our establishment will be used against you. If you fail with _this_ patient, then you are done before we can even do anything. We all know he will return you to the system." Valjean instantly felt fear shooting hotly through his brain, already dizzy with the forced recollection of toil and isolated despair in the prison. "And I will tell you right now, we will not openly associate with a criminal. Our business needs a clean reputation for its work."

"...So you would throw me to the dogs."

The leftmost one answered: "You will merely not get any help from us, if you behave. If you are caught, then we will deny everything. If you try to _involve_ us...then we will throw you to the dogs, as you say. As Jean-Claude said, maybe it would be better to simply do it anyway and save all of us the suspense."

Valjean's breath hitched as he heard what could only be Faro coming downstairs. All around him, the power of money and influence was closing upon him. He tried to take a deep breath but found his chest too collapsed to achieve it.

"Your staff were incredibly generous with me," insisted Valjean. "Even when they learned, they wanted to reward me for my work in this city, for my _redemption_. They changed my life so that it could be used for good. That is no reason to use my life as...as a _science project_ that could be thrown out at a moment's notice. Or am I wasting my breath?"

"Monsieur, I thought we had taught you better than this." Faro walked over to the empty chair and seated himself comfortably, steepling his now ungloved fingers at the test subject.

"Persuasion, you mean?", continued Valjean. "It is hard to be logical when all of you are breathing down my neck. This atmosphere is stifling."

"Learn to deal with it, Valjean. This is all about learning. For instance, I became better for my work when I learned my misguided staff were giving free services to you without my permission. When I found out they went so far as to encourage a sexual awakening, in a mayor renounced for holy diligence, I learned of how deeply you and my club had been implicated. And then I learned that it would be better to put you to use instead of punishing you for taking advantage of their impudence. Your name, your troubled past...you all but revealed your heart to those servants, and without a sous in return. You would do well to learn why that was wrong to do to us, and why this patient will ruin you if you are not careful."

Faro...Jean Valjean doubted he would ever find this man to not be completely horrifying. Faro had provided even more services - lessons, on how to cope with the thousands of different perspectives that could come against him! - once Valjean had let slip how he was getting thoroughly pampered for free. With that man's help, the Pharaoh's Tomb had taken his still-shuddering soul and repaired it, made it whole in ways he never imagined people could feel whole. His philosphy. His sexuality. His sense of inner peace. His ability to change perspective on a situation, again and again if need be. How was any of that great wisdom 'impudent'? But Jean Valjean said none of this. To think it all started with trying to find a rosary buyer in Paris...but that money-grubbing demagogue of a priest just led him to the club, and now he couldn't even remember the bastard's name for everything that happened. Faro just took it all in with a removed smile. No wonder Victor left with him. And now the founder of a leisure club was smiling again at his client's life come to ruin.

The shadow mayor buried his face in his hands. All he could do was breathe deeply and somberly think of ways he could learn to cope with prison labor once more.

...Wait. He combed over what he had heard. Wait just one minute!

"Are you saying that I cannot be careful?" A chance? Lord in heaven, a chance?!

"I say that it is necessary to see your choice through."

Faro's cold smile felt like a pardon by way of a warm handshake. The other doctors grunted, and it was a wonderful sound, entrenching the delight that poured over him in the most solid reality. The Pharaoh's Experiment was approved!

"If you somehow manage to make a good man out of him, then we will help you tell your story and clear your name, as we promised. We will buy supporters for your fine system idea, so when your sentence is converted to a debt, we will pay that as well. After all, men like you who can achieve feats like that need to be recognized. But if you fail, then we must protect ourselves for whomever else may succeed in this experiment. We _want_ both of you to do well. But you worry us. What will you do now?"

The room held a pause that Valjean could have sworn heated the air ever so slightly, it was so anxious. The ancient woodwork of the house settled again, but getting distracted by it just made it harder to look at the doctors again. What would he do now...?

He really was in over his head. But he had to act if he wanted to contemplate, and vice versa. He had to take it as it came.

"I will learn."

Faro beamed.

"A perfect answer. Oh, by the way! Javert will not be contagious after the operation. I mean, assuming he takes that antibiotic as prescribed. I checked it out, and Nui mixed something that I use! I thought he was going to let that fool die, but everything came together for you, mon patient."

...Jean Valjean smiled.

"That grin...Not even hiding it, are you? My preferences are different from yours, but I suppose the hairy ones have their charm. They certainly make me a pretty coin with cutting their backsides up."

"His backside was more what appealed to me, actually," answered Valjean. "Ironic, considering how it made me feel today!"

"You know my type?"

Everyone looked to the rightmost doctor, who was scowling profoundly.

"Yes, Clouseau?", asked Faro.

"One with breasts and a vagina."

The doctor made a face of mock horror to the mayor, who responded in kind.

"I think a man with breasts and a vagina would be horrifying! Am I wrong, Monsieur le Maire?"

"No, I agree! Monsieur le Docteur has demonic taste."

Clouseau glowered at the six laughing men.

"Well, we should get started. Since Clouseau made that tasteless jab, he gets to play nurse. Come along!"

Valjean watched the medical team walk back upstairs, fully content to wait downstairs for the results when:

"It won't be enough, you know."

The mayor made a point of visibly puzzling over the statement, so the doctor could see.

"Having sex with him, I mean. It will reduce the aggression, but it will not eliminate the source. A legalist like him...I saw his crusades in Paris, and I know what a piece of work he is."

"I know even better than you do, I would say."

"Hah! Did you prompt him, then? Yes, I know you did. What was it, then?"

"Why do laws change?"

Faro grinned and shook his head before replying: "That will keep him busy for a while. I would use that question to stall rather than start a discussion. Maybe you could make it work...but I must say. He could find a way out of this whole thing by the Code, if you make one false step."

"I know," admitted Valjean. "But I have faith that he is not a true legalist. He has secrets to unravel."

"One would hope so. I would hate to imagine my soul as nothing but being trapped by a system of human laws. What a tiny, claustrophobic life."

Valjean suddenly felt a powerful, blindsiding pang of compassion for the lonely Inspector.

"I will make a good man out of him, through the decadence you showed me. And he may even do so for me in return."

Faro chuckled.

"Arrogant! I dare you to make that come true."

Faro closed the door to the guest room behind him. Even thought Valjean knew he was in over his head, that he would probably fail, that his upcoming tryst with the self-contained Inspector may be the first and last moments of true intimacy he would ever have, he still said this to the room:

"I dare you to have more faith in me, messieurs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ass tried to kill me, so it had to be cut open and set on fire (not at the same time, and by fire I mean laser treatment). Now Javert gets to experience that unique existence. Being a hairy-assed man is interesting sometimes.
> 
> SIDENOTE: For anyone reading Worth the Trouble (or if you just looked at it and went 'dafuq?'), I am putting that on hold for a while. It's a complicated story, and I need to do more planning so that I don't lose sight of it. I hate planning, so it could take a while XD Besides, with all the simpler story ideas I want to do, it makes more sense to give it my FULL attention LATER than my DIVIDED attention NOW. Sorry for the inconvenience!


	8. Chapter 8

Jean found himself glad that the Inspector was unconscious, else the stench of his operation would push the man past the begrudging submission he undoubtedly worked to maintain. To describe it would be futile, but he was revulsed at how it easily seeped past the closed door. The windows would be opened, so any sparse wildlife, with their more sensitive noses, would simply have to bear the misfortune of their fellow mammal being cut open and exposed to the elements.

_And I thought I had smelled the worst. No, this is uniquely horrid...praise God for keeping his children's innards wrapped in skin! Or rather, most of the time._

He contemplated as he finally had to stand up from the chair outside the room and check on Victor. As he thought of it, he actually dared not contemplate what emotion Javert would express at what was happening to him, in both the long term and the afternoon. A tiny life indeed, composing of law enforcement, hermitage, and Jean suspected little to nothing else. For all of this to be imposed, albeit necessarily, had already proven to be stressful for Javert. But now with this, and with what had to happen later...as intimacy became included in the therapy he was to conduct...Jean steeled his resolve at the imaginary image of the strange man finally losing nerve and lashing at a magistrate for 'cruel and unusual punishment'.

_Not that it would be unfitting. He would have difficulty at the circumstances, while I have to admit to a guilty satisfaction. This will hit him where it hurts, until he submits to me and allows me to heal him._

_Then again, I have no other option. My unholy sentiment has nothing to do with it._

"Victor?"

"...I am well," answered the boy behind the door to the toilet. "It was mostly shock. I decided to clean this room a bit. U-Unless you would like a meal prepared, I understand this all happened--"

"As long as you are well, then keep at it," answered Madeleine. He disliked talking to people through doors; no matter if it were necessary at the time, it just felt rude. His eyes were helplessly occupied with the peeling bark in front of him, making his brain occupied with the idea of replacing the door in the future. It was quite old, and winter was a good time for small changes.

"Ah, good. I fear a meal would be a poor idea, anyway. I only suggested it because monsieur is heartier than I am."

"Enough talk of nausea, boy. When you are done with that room, I will need your help cleaning up after the surgery."

"...Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

Madeleine left Victor to work and waited for the end of the surgery.

A click of the door handle roused Madeleine from his nap on the chair. Faro exited the room, gloveless, with a proud smile on his face. Madeleine was instantly spotted by him.

"Ah, be ready to start taking those a lot more often, old man."

Valjean could not suppress a glare. He tried, and he failed. He also could not keep the droll melancholy of what the doctor said from afflicting him, nor could he stop him laughing. But hopefully, he thought as he stood up, he could find a way to make his back less stiff.

"You are older than I am."

"So I would know! No more lifting carts, either, unless you yourself are trapped under one. Anyway, the operation was completely nominal. Javert should recover normally, as long as no gauze is left to fester and reinfect him. And Leon has volunteered to take temporary residence here, to supervise in case of any complications."

Valjean swallowed.

"Supervise."

Faro smiled.

"Yes. This is for the best. He will leave you and your servant to tend to him, but he will be a resource to you if absolutely necessary. For example, if you need help shaving him in that difficult area."

Valjean nodded, letting his lip quirk into a half-smile. Difficult or not, he would be holding Javert in a very vulnerable position. Very intimate. Something about that, with a man like him...!

"Mostly," interceded a low tenor voice, "I found a charming property in this city and would like to claim it. As a getaway from Paris, I think this Montreuil will do quite nicely. Different ambience and such."

_Javert would reel at the notion of simply buying a new property on sight. And to think, I used to be the same!_

"I understand. I can get a councilman to process your purchase."

"Excellent!", exclaimed the still-obscured Leon. "But if you cannot get away, you could give me his address. I doubt he would turn away a man with a bag of coins."

"Speaking of which," added Clouseau from behind the door, "we will take the liberty of visiting your banker to remove--"

"Ahem," interrupted Faro. "He forgets that I already know the man. I have left a bag of supplies in that room, for your use. I also wrote down instructions for this process in case you forget. No strenuous movement, of course, but I must stress this. He can walk and sit as much as his pain tolerance will allow. But he will undoubtedly test his tolerance, so force him to be wise. You should find a bottle of painkiller in the bag, a thinner version of laudanum, specifically. If you run out, normal laudanum should do just fine. Use your discretion. Any questions?"

"...How would a drunk Javert act?"

Faro chuckled.

"Leon will have to tell me all about it. You devil, Valjean."

Jean could not help flinching, nor angling his head to see if Javert had suddenly awakened.

"...Ah, I thought you were..." Faro cleared his throat. "Never mind. We will tour the city for a while, those of us willing, and then we will leave."

"You should see me again this evening," added Leon. "Javert should be awake in half an hour more, and keep the windows open: the smell should be gone by then as well."

"Thank the heavens!", the men heard from down the hall. Faro sighed.

"I am indebted to you gentlemen," offered Madeleine. "May your journey home be without trouble."

Faro kept a steady gaze and answered: "Keep him sane."

Jean forced himself to nod.

The doctors and the mayor did last goodbyes at the door and an exchange of addresses, leaving a very disheveled old man to meander back upstairs, enduring the last wisps of the stench. He kept the door open to aid its dispersion. He entered the room, finding the bag on the table. He searched its contents: the painkiller bottle, the instructions, gauze, gloves, a small canister of glue (hopefully not necessary), a small and fine razor blade, shaving cream - that man was banking on his diagnosis, good grief - and...

Hmm. Perhaps they were for recovery purposes, but the thought of Javert wearing them...Jean had mixed feelings on the idea. And two others! These were expensive!

Finally, he looked upon the drugged Javert, completely naked, prick exposed and flaccid (the doctors were not being paid to dress him, apparently), lying on his back for once, upon a rump that undoubtedly held an open wound, covered only by some tucked strips of white cloth. Or rather, reddish-pink cloth, now.

_I could take half of my money and go, leaving the rest to the head of the council. The candlesticks are easy to hide. The people here would suffer, but they already have the formula for the rosaries; I prepared the patent to be transferred into municipal property. The buyers and suppliers would be happy to deal with the factory, with or without me. They would forget about me eventually, and Javert would move on to other criminals in time. More dangerous criminals, ones that demand his full attention. I could hide in Paris, and Faro's company would never find me. I would be safe._

But then he heard that same, aloof voice from the Pharaoh's Tomb: _And Javert would be alone. Both of you would be alone, all over again._

"..."

He knew Faro would successfully rid the man of this illness, but seeing him here and Javert there...it occurred to Valjean that he never had to go to a doctor in his life. Javert probably never did, either. For him to make a request like this, the Inspector must have truly hated being inflicted in that area. And it did look painful to walk around with that...

Seeing him as human was so easy now, yet at the same time, twisting him into a fanged shadow of unfounded wrath had long since become a bad habit. Jean knew the sweet buzz of capturing his opponent would fade, and this had already started. In any case, he was glad the law-obsessed moron was okay. And now all he could do was wait.

* * *

Sure enough, half an hour later:

"Mmmngh..."

"Javert!"

Madeleine stood, picked up his chair, walked over to the Inspector's head, placed the chair, and sat down beside him. His schedule for the rest of the day was tending to him, and he hoped the rays of sunlight pointing eastward would shift Javert's mood, in that subtle manner he and everyone else experienced every single day, to accept the care gracefully.

In hindsight, no subtlety could have misdirected what happened.

"...I take it I survived." His voice was weak, but stable.

The mayor took the opportunity and responded: "Most of you did. The rest died a horrible death, and the smell made Victor respond predictably."

Javert nodded, but not without wincing. Valjean knew that chloroform could give the inhaler headaches, and it seemed Javert was part of that lucky cluster of victims. At least dehydration was not a common symptom.

_Ah!_

"I will fetch you some water, one moment."

Javert looked ready to protest, but as the mayor stood and turned to the door, he heard no true protest from the fool. Perhaps he was already beginning to submit!

...Jean recoiled at the realization: blood rushed to his crotch at the words he had chosen. That would not do. And he himself had told Javert that this was their duty to maintain this situation. The fact Javert said nothing was most probably due to him remembering that. Most probably.

Victor stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding a bucket of fresh water.

"I am used to the procedure. I only wish I felt better about it."

The mayor smiled wearily. If only he had lured the boy here sooner. Taking the bucket, he and Victor returned to the room. Javert appeared slightly amused? by the boy entering as well, especially as the room was witness to this:

"OH GOODNESS I THOUGHT HE WOULD BE COVERED OH NO I NEED TO-I AM SORRY, I-I MUST--"

"Victor."

The servant stopped at Madeleine's tone of disappointment. Good things never lasted in his life, did they?

At the pang of grief that struck him, he vowed never to choose comments like that again.

"He can go," offered Javert suddenly. "I am feeling peckish, and since Monsieur le Maire insists on my subjugation for this, perhaps we should start that with a meal. He may _use his imagination_ for what to prepare."

Valjean blinked.

"...Very well. You heard him, boy. The sheets can wait."

"...Indeed."

Victor left and walked down the stairs. Madeleine watched Javert's lips twitch briefly. A hint of a grin: did he say that just to confuse both of them? To get a reaction? If that were the worst of his problems for this...! But no, it could not be that simple. Madeleine handed the bucket to Javert, who stiffly pushed himself onto his elbows to accept it. The contents were drained eagerly and swiftly, with loud and oddly fascinating sounds of swallowing...a caramel-colored throat bobbing with the simple motion so many took for granted.

"You are no longer contagious," blurted the mayor.

Javert blinked. Setting down the bucket, he seemed perplexed, and he had every right to be.

"I thought I was to keep taking the medicine."

_...Ah._

"You are. But your illness will not affect me. O-Or Victor, for example. You may touch and, erm, be touched." As much as Jean tried to intellectualize the notion, Javert the loveless police spy taking the time to be fondled by anyone - or even happily returning it - still undid his fluency.

Javert hesitantly looked outside to the eastward-slanted sunlight. He looked back to the dunce of a mayor. Clearly, he understood now.

"I know monsieur likes to play games, but I could not imagine why you would say that. Er, to imply what you did, there would be no point to it..."

Valjean said nothing. He simply watched his patient slowly become distressed.

"A natural distance lies between us, as demanded by the State. I know this circumstance is unusual, but...no, you must understand, it could never happen. You are foolish at times, and that is not a crime, but this line you wish to cross..."

"What about our game?", asked Madeleine. If Javert truly meant to claim it as inconsequential, then he had to be outrageously oblivious.

"Inconsequential..." Valjean wanted to groan, but Javert continued. "We merely entertained ourselves, not each other. T-To go any further than that, after as far as I have come to be respected..."

He stopped.

"Javert?"

Valjean almost failed to register its beginning. A small hiccup, accepting of any attribution. Then he detected weak croaks. The sounds were choked as the strange man's shoulders started shaking, and his eyes were narrowed, and he was grinning. Then his eyes shut tight and his eyes opened wide. Even laughing, Javert looked displeased. But--

"Javert?!"

"...YOU!" Javert's eyes opened wide, giving him a look of manic possession that was harshly dissonant from the sight of a laughing man. He was pointing at the mayor. "MONSIEUR LE MAIRE! You...you are absolutely unbelievable. Ridiculous. Your idea of a joke..." He stopped to convulse some more. "I am in pain, for an area I could have forgotten on any given day. I am sequ-sequestered in your home, me, your Chief Inspector. I am your test subject for some cockamamie experiment, consisting of pleasing me, of all things. You ask me why laws change. You kiss me on the forehead. And then...! To top it all off, **you casually mention that you could touch me now!** "

Javert seemed unable to speak at that point. Valjean wiped sweat off his own forehead as he waited for him to continue.

"...I now understand why we were meant to be apart. You and I, we operate differently. We live in different worlds. I worked all my life to be respected, by all of my superiors. I would never imagine doing anything like this, yet here I am, on behalf of yet another superior! This, I just..."

Madeleine could not make heads of tails of him anymore, not with this revelation. But Javert slowly started laughing less intensely...and his face turned clearly distressed instead.

"W-Why _do_ laws change?", posed Madeleine. Anything to keep him distracted from whatever was triggering this madness.

"...Unbelievable!", countered Javert. "You are a singular magistrate. Others would balk at your behavior."

"...Answer me."

"Oh, yes, monsieur. _Right away._ Ah...they change because...hmm..."

Valjean closed his eyes and thought of the leisure club. Such a soothing place, not a hint of conflict to be seen. Calm voices, the sound of running water, hands kneading his flesh attentively and tenderly...he needed to go back there after all of this.

"...The laws change as the times change, Monsieur le Maire."

_...Ah!_

"T-That is true!", Madeleine grabbed desperately at the glint of hope. "But that is not why they change. Still, what do you think that means?"

"I disagree."

_...What?_

"You disagree?"

"Ah, pardon me. I meant to say I am not wrong. Laws are written as is appropriate for the time in which they are enacted. Thus, the laws of this time are appropriate for the events at play as overseen by the Crown. And...! And since I am a man of this time, I enforce them and stand by them faithfully, and so the contemplation of their changing over time is unimportant to me."

Valjean felt lead drop in his stomach.

"...What if they were to suddenly change?" He planned on posing this counterpoint calmly and masterfully, but he croaked it out instead. His confidence was shattered at the sheer conviction and surprising eloquence of the cruel guard of Toulon's galleys. Javert...truly believed this? So unwaveringly?

"They will not." Javert did not hesitate at the challenge to his logic, answering swiftly and proudly. "These laws suit this period of time perfectly. I enforce a status of certainty for your city, as it is and will be for both our lifetimes."

Jean Valjean took a moment to reflect.

Javert had flawed logic; that was clear to see. Many counterpoints existed to derail the arrogant argument, but looking at his expression...so grimly contented to be defending this State. How deep did this loyalty burrow within his soul? Was attacking his way of thinking...was it even _safe?_

Faro said: "Keep him sane." Valjean should have said: "It would be better to keep him drunk."

"Monsieur le Maire? I have answered your question. Is there anything else you need of me?"

The mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer looked upon his officer of the laws for this time. Javert came out of surgery with aplomb. He came across arguments eagerly, once properly engaged. And he was starting to accept the situation, distressing though it was for him. Javert was strong. As long as he stayed in Madeleine's care, this would be fine.

"You have not answered the question, actually. To admit to law as being temporal raises more questions than it answers. But this is a great start. I will discuss this with you tomorrow, after breakfast. It should be fun, to see more of how you think!"

Javert did not laugh. Instead, he started quirking his shoulders in starting to do so, but he slowly abandoned it in favor of a face of sheer perplexion.

"You want more? I did answer you! I should have declined to do it, but you are just--"

"Just what? Dedicated to higher thought? As a man who enforces the laws, whether of this time or not, I would hope you would understand my prompt enough to discuss it contentedly."

The Inspector turned completely indignant, yet he seemed incapable of communicating this in any other way than stretching out his right hand to the mayor and then dropping it against the side of the bed. He then, oddly enough, started to squeeze the mattress, releasing and gripping over and over.

"Monsieur le Maire loves to insult me. I am not a thinking man, never have been."

"But you could be. And I will teach you. As your caretaker, I know this is in your best interest, as well as the interest of the citizens you will protect again."

"The laws are clear!"

"So is the logic that challenges them."

"... _You speak tre_ \--"

"Lunch is ready, messieurs!"

The room fell silent. Sunlight poured carelessly through the windows, and Madeleine finally closed them. The tension of the argument could not keep them warm against the outside air any longer.

"I do not speak treason. In fact, any law should be strong enough to cope with opposing arguments. Why else would they be passed by our dear France, if they were so easily trampled? If you try, I am sure you could defeat me."

The bar was set, and Javert finally seemed nonplussed.

"I will bring up your meal, not to worry. Just stay comfortable, and let me know--"

"Do you mean to destroy me?"

Dread pricked Jean's spine at his tone. Not helpless, not indignant, but accusatory.

"Nothing of the sort, Javert!"

"I could imagine only one man twisted enough to put me through all of this. He is still at large. And I must say, you bear a striking resemblance--"

Javert could no longer speak. Jean had deliberately interrupted the motion of his lips by applying pressure from his own. As a consequence, neither of them could speak, so he enjoyed the sight of Javert in complete shock and the sensation of surprisingly soft lips, albeit thin...before parting from the man.

"I doubt any criminal would tend to you like this. Nor would he kiss you. Take care before accusing me of anything so ridiculous."

Madeleine watched Javert's face quickly become flush with blood. Such a stress-worn face...Jean wondered if that same stress turned him into that guard. If not, then his behavior was all the more aggravating. But all of that would change, with the more Jean learned of the hypocritical man.

"M-Monsieur, you are...I, I am so terribly sorry, this situation--"

*Smack*

Twice in one minute. The two of them, after those two times...instantly transformed into a new dynamic. But what would that dynamic be?

"I understand. Surgery can befuddle the mind; this is not your fault. Wait for me a moment."

He started to leave at last, when he heard a query that wrapped every ounce of dissonance in the situation into one syllable:

"Why?!"

Without turning, he answered with the clarity gifted to him from that small embrace: "Healing must be painful at first, in order to be effective. You are here because this is long overdue."

* * *

Javert fell down to his pillow and shut his eyes. His pillow. This was his life in this period of time. The mayor, of all people, was content to keep his bleeding body here and...and regard him like this. To kiss him. To actually, literally, without hesitation...

"Because this is long overdue."

Javert repeated the statement, but no understanding came to him. If only he said something along the lines of "Because you displease me", then he could have been assured of the presence of Valjean. If only...it would have been just to arrest him, torturing a police officer atop everything else.

But the mayor saw what the lowly officer failed to see. Madeleine cared about him, albeit in an unorthodox way, and Javert had the gall to compare him to a criminal in return. For the second time.

"Because this is long overdue...!"

This was never just an ill-conceived experiment. No, those eyes spoke of disappointment before he left, and he refused to look at him for his childish outburst. Monsieur Madeleine was in his rights to punish Javert, and he was doing so in a way that would hurt and be memorable: making a point of how  _he_  had mocked the spirit of the law. The mayor even paid for expensive medicine to show how Javert's suspicion and rudeness was undeserved toward a noble man like him. The payment was punishment for every single slight he had posed to a man above his station, until and including today.

_...I will not punish you for saying something rude or stupid._

Madeleine had been punishing him this whole time, and that line was to enhance the lesson he was learning now. Unconventional, yet undeniably effective. All the bizarre statements and teasing comments made sense now! Javert was supposed to be worn down by this exercise, and that was appropriate for teaching him not to be so disrespectful. To never disrespect an upstanding administrator of society again for as long as he lived. And Javert would accept this punishment at last.

His pulse quickened as he heard the magistrate's shoes pleasantly collide with the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I describe/imply our two dudes here to look close to the canonical description, in order to do some positive body appreciation. If that isn't your thing, then remember that fictional characters are half what the reader makes of them: they could be male models with distorted ideas of beauty if you like, and Victor could...well, that would be saying too much.
> 
> All my stories are so weird. And it's completely my fault.

Victor the servant tried to make himself useful whenever feasible.

People needed help, and help could make money and friends, so it always made sense to him to provide it. In pursuing the talent of helping others over a few years, he earned enough of a reputation to be spotted by a doctor with a powerfully intimidating personality: thus, he became an in-demand, teenaged servant to men and women with more gold in their pockets than he imagined he would ever see in any pair of hands. Even though he was in demand for a lifestyle which - were he to imagine trying it himself - would compel everyone he knew to bark at him to stop lying on his back and get back to work.

Otherwise, he was a dopey, 20-year-old Parisian who made the title an embarrassment. Easily nauseated, dysfunctionally uncomfortable with the human body (he had made strides, but exposed skin below the waist still out of the question), immature with humor, unconcerned with politics on the whole, startled at loud noises, and even disorganized in his regard of others. Still, he valued his sense of priority, his memory, his intuition, his reasoning, and his legacy of servitude to high society that made his parents of modest means and his two grumpy siblings proud to mention his name among their friends and relatives. Some said the nobler folk had rubbed off on him, but he would rebut that it was these qualities that drew their attention in the first place. Victor worked hard, and his reception was the direct consequence of this.

Victor also fancied himself as perceptive, but over the course of this week...the two men to which he was attending had started to baffle him. Not merely befuddle or bemuse, or besmirch on some occasions, but well and truly defy his powers of explanation.

Javert the Inspector was an unhappy man, notoriously so. But not lately. He greeted Madeleine the Mayor with a smile of all things, and even Victor was gifted one every now and then. Once he started coming (slowly) downstairs to enjoy meals, this phenomenon increased in frequency. He caught the man after a Tuesday breakfast with contentment on his rather ugly face, which admittedly made it less ugly, and decided to ask:

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, you seem in better spirits lately. Is it anything that I am doing, or could I still improve my service to you?"

Javert gave a quiet chuckle as he set down his cup of coffee. Victor was frightened, not because it sounded scary, but because any mirth from this man was supposed to sound scary, and yet it did not sound scary at all. Madeleine made no comment about it, merely picking up his plate to hand to the baffled servant.

"I am merely beginning to enjoy myself in this convalescence. You are performing well. Keep it up."

And that was the entire explanation Victor received. As many times as he turned and shifted the words, even looking under them for any secret messages, this change in attitude made no sense. Why would Javert be so accepting of this so suddenly? Why would Javert compliment him, for doing the same things he was doing that made the spartan so cranky before? Javert was recovering from a very embarrassing surgery!

Was Javert actually a hedonist all this time? He imagined it was a fair conclusion for a typical spartan man. Many men of austerity were proud of their ability to live without "depraved passtimes", yet those who were obligated by their business partners to join them in the Pharaoh's Tomb came to unwind under the careful comfort of Faro's team, with himself as a proud, although quirky, member. The Sieur Madeleine was an unusual example, getting services for free, but he soon joined the number of austere men that were dramatically transformed. He also heard some strange confessions, but given his status as a servant, he decided that they were none of his business. Madeleine was Madeleine, and that was all that mattered.

But this was Javert. Javert lived and breathed work, even to the point of punishing himself for not doing enough. Victor tried his best to work with that preference, but...this change in lifestyle could only make him uncomfortable, and that was the case, until now. Something else had to account for the bewitched smiles Victor was seeing. He was glad that Madeleine was the only one changing the man's gauze even more now, if only to keep the disturbing sight of Javert in a good mood out of sight and out of mind for a few minutes.

Part of him suspected that the laudanum Javert was taking for pain affected him with unusual strength. But the other part of him insisted that Javert had more control over himself than that, and this part held superior reason for the time being.

As for le Sieur le Maire...he had never seen such a pious and powerful man act so shifty in all his life.

Never mind the incredible kindness of a magistrate acting as nurse to a healing officer of the law, and even paying for the medicine. As weird as that was, it paled in contrast to Madeleine suddenly, and consistently, shooing Victor out of the room at random points in time. For no reason. He overheard that Madeleine planned on having intellectual discussions with the man, but why would that necessitate him leaving? Surely a third head among the pair would be a benefit for that sort of thing. It made absolutely no sense.

Unless they thought he would just make a mess of their discussion, which was patently unfair, if that were the case. Leon held the same opinion of mental clumsiness for him, even though he only did his job around the man. Some people! Why was that necessary, labeling him instead of making a proper interview to discover the truth? Le Sieur le Docteur was an experimenter, not a gossiper! Or at least Victor liked to believe that.

But it was also noteworthy how the doctor had still to be called upon for assistance, even as the day before the Lord's day crept upon them, on this day. One would think Madeleine would want a second opinion on the new situation before it was inappropriate, or too late, to request one. Even more troublesome, Victor started watching the man more closely and found he sneaked out in the middle of the night! Victor asked the mayor the day after that discovery, when leaving the mairie on Thursday midmorning, what he planned to do while Victor tended to Javert. The response? "I am going to see some children about some toys."

Shifty. Very shifty, almost devilishly so. Why were neither of these men straightforward with him?! What was happening?!

Even when he was minding his own business, nowhere near the guest room to which he was swiftly becoming persona non grata, he would see the mayor pass by to collect dried laundry or inspect the upholstery or something equally mundane...with a gleam in his eye.

Javert was possessed by unsubstantiated happiness. Madeleine was clearly plotting something. Both had to be tied, as both started and were occurring at the same time. The only investigation Victor could feasibly design was to eavesdrop on the pair in the guest room. And so here he was, on the evening of Saturday, December the 14th, with his right ear shamefully inclined toward the gap between the door and the lock. At least the bits of conversation he missed seemed to be unrelated to the weirdness that was sure to show itself.

"...see your point, Monsieur le Maire, but I fail to see what that has to do with a job like mine."

"Javert, it has everything to do with your job! If one of your inferiors were to misconstrue one word of the Code, that could lead to complete misunderstanding of the law containing it."

"Which law?"

"Pick whichever you like, it makes no difference. If that misunderstanding went uncorrected, it could--"

"Monsieur, this city's police force is faithful in executing the laws correctly."

"I know, Inspector, I _know_. But mistakes happen to the best of us."

"...I apologize, monsieur. I cannot seem to drop this habit of interrupting you."

"I noticed the same habit. But as I was saying...! Misconstrual of even one word could lead to misunderstanding severe enough to lead to incorrect, albeit well-intentioned, execution. And that begs a very important question: how would one surely know if one is construing the laws correctly, if even one misapplied word changes the meaning?"

"...Monsieur, you are heavily implying that someone in your police force is doing just that. Do you wish to address this someone directly?"

Victor gaped at Javert's tone. It sounded...defeated, in a way. The idea of Javert surrendering to anything rang as false, and harshly so. This had to be tied into the weird behavior.

"...Javert, I have full confidence in you. I did not mean to malign you in any way, so please drop that attitude."

"Yes, monsieur...I will trust your superior judgment without question from now and forever more."

The mayor sighed.

"It does my heart glad to hear you say that. I feared I would get nowhere with you."

"I am yours to command, Monsieur le Maire!"

"But one part troubles me: I do not want your blind faith, Inspector. I need you to understand the _significance_ of what we are discussing."

"O-Of course."

Something about both their tones nagged at Victor. Usually, they were respectful of each other while also being distant. But they sounded...warmer than that right now. Slightly tense, even a little nervous, but much warmer than a mayor and an inspector should sound together.

Together.

Wait.

They...no.

Ridiculous. Laughable. So much for being perceptive.

"All I mean to say, Javert, is that reason demands self-reflection when it comes to executions of the laws. You admitted last time that improper interpretation of laws is exceedingly easy. Every now and then, one should meditate on them to ensure that one's understanding has not slipped or become confused. Do you follow?"

"...I suppose. Yes, that is sound advice, for one who is absent-minded."

"Are we not absent-minded in our own ways, though? Certain details passing through our minds, unaccounted, completely forgotten? Could you tell me every single detail of every single case you have solved, every action of every criminal you have arrested since the onset of your career?"

"Ah, given time to recollect, yes."

"But you would need that time! As you would. And I mean nothing by that; my memory is faulty in the same way. Hmm, I see your confusion already. Think of it this way. You have no need to remember what meal you had for supper five weeks ago, do you?"

"...Hardly."

"Correct, and thus you forgot about it."

"Tripe stew. That was all I had, as I was patrolling late and had to skip supper four times that week."

"...Alright, but you merely happened to remember that. And you hardly remember every little detail about it, which is my point. It may seem harmless to let details outside of work fade, but if one is capable of doing it at all, then that capability could not be restricted solely to unimportant things. The mind is born undisciplined, and that lack of discipline is pervasive, since it allows details to fade. Thus, the chance for this...this phenomenon interfering with interpretation of any detail _must_ be recognized. No matter how small that chance. Imperfect execution, as you well know, is unacceptable."

"...I think I see what you mean."

Victor heard the creak of bedsprings, and then the soft shuffling of a silk sheet. A sheet he had to clean five times now, unless Javert was using the spare one that Madeleine took. Yes, that had to be why. The house suddenly settled to his left, and he had to steady himself before he lost his balance from the start.

"Explain it to me, then. Tell me what you heard, as if you were teaching me."

Victor heard...a button being undone with clumsy fingers, brushing the fabric of a shirt or coat.

...

Oh, dear.

"...Monsieur said that the mind is...fickle, and...that no one is above the need to keep it in check, especially those whose...whose actions have powerful consequences."

Another button. Then others went unheard, done much more expertly. Victor knew this. He could not see a thing they were doing, and yet he knew that was exactly what was happening.

"Beautifully put. I am pleased, Javert."

He heard a soft smacking sound.

"...I-I am glad monsieur is pleased."

Victor was listening to his masters having an intimate moment.

This was the plot.

This was the unsubstantiated happiness.

This was his life.

_The first chance I get, I am taking the rest of the week off._

**Boy, your duty is to the welfare of any client--**

_I AM TAKING THE WEEK OFF. THIS IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY. I do not have to listen to ugly men having sex._

"Monsieur, i-in the interest of keeping minds in check...why do you think this is important, again?"

A soft click resounded after a pause. Victor wished that he thought the sound was too vague to identify. But he could not help but notice such sounds in the Pharaoh's Tomb. Highly paying clients...they received just short of anything they desired. And the most jarring aspect of any of those bizarre, almost otherworldly, pleasures was the noises. Months of accidental proximity to the closed rooms, with his sharp hearing, taught him lessons that he would sooner forget.

Victor had only one pleasure he would ever seek, and he was still too shy to seek it. But that did not mean that this situation would be educational. It did not mean that.

"My dear Javert! I need my Chief Inspector relaxed. And I need you to appreciate the feeling of relaxation. It will recharge you..." Click. "It will help you perform that much more energetically, and with much more focus. I saw you after late night shifts, when you reported to me..." Click, click. "You were drained to the bone, and you cannot deny it! I felt dreadful, sitting in my chair, not doing anything to soothe you."

_Oh dear Lord...Why am I still standing here?_

"T-That is not monsieur's responsibility! And not in this way..."

"It is now, and it must be done this way. This is part of who you are, dear Javert. I must teach you obedience to the ways of your body, as well as those of your mind. It is the only way you will learn."

"...Very well. I must be worn down by Monsieur le Maire."

"At last, he understands."

The bedsprings began to softly squeak.

_Legs. Move. Get me away from here. I have learned everything I wanted to know, and now I need to leave._

"...Mmmmngh."

Victor shuddered at the sound.

"...I thought I would repulse you. I...I-I am not an attractive man."

...Victor was baffled yet again. That was an odd comment to make.

"Javert...this is all about perspective. Some people...they may see your face as frightening or gruesome. But they fail to get close enough to you...to wipe the hair from your brow, to see you plain. You have a pleasant gaze, when you are content. Your jaw frames your face nicely, when you are content. Your lips made a charming smile, when you are truly content. Your caramel skin shows a difficult life, and that makes me want to know it."

That...that was a nice response. Victor wished someone would say that to him. He had to wipe his hair from his brow all the time, just to keep it from blocking his vision when bending over to clean.

A lengthy pause followed, concluded by a click.

"One would need to know you to see these things, but you are worth knowing. I know just a little about you, and already I see your appeal. It's all." Click. "About." Smack. "Perspective. When you learn that, you will be sharper for it."

Victor then heard light panting and the rubbing of skin on skin, and he found that his feet were stuck to the floor by sheer force of helplessness.

"And as for the rest of you...well, why describe it when I have it in my hands?"

"I-I remember we have described each other well enough already, monsieur."

"...Have we? That makes me wonder. Did I describe this carpet of hair on your chest? My fingers just sink into it...so soft as well."

"...They are calloused. I thought feeling them would be unpleasant, but I was wrong."

Victor had the image of them touching each other, and he had no words for how it made him feel.

"There...there are men much more fetching than me as well, Javert. I-I am glad you favor me."

"...Ah, monsieur, I never thought that. Your face shows a life of labor, a-and I respect the toil of honest men. I would describe it, but I f-fear I would do monsieur a disservice. You are strong. You are present. Y-You have a powerful gaze. You are very, very strong. I find you...you are very fetching to me, Madeleine. Even when upset, you are...m-monsieur, your grip is a bit too tight."

"P-Pardon!"

Victor could not stop listening to the stuttering old men. This had become fascinating, in its peculiar way. And people were always mocking his squeamishness; he might as well learn to start coping with discomfort, even if it meant listening to...

_I should not be here. I should have left._

"M-Monsieur is a large man. I appreciate that. You are--you are thick with bulk, and I admit that made me greedy to...'examine' you. Pardon my poor description--"

An abrupt cut-off, and a smack some time afterward.

"Heh. My bulk is yours to enjoy. For me, I...I always wanted to show my affection for your length, and, ah, slenderness. I am glad you submitted to me."

Victor drifted out of focus for the next few minutes, hearing only kisses and unintelligible articulations. It all blended together in a crude harmony.

"Ah...I should have...mmmph, clarified earlier. I find your appeal at its best when you are content. Javert, you are fetching. At least to me. That is a fact. J-Javert? What are you doing?"

All Victor could hear was the bedsprings, still soft and slow. This was meant to be prolonged, whatever it was. Then again, 'grip' eliminated a few options.

"I wanted...hehe. This feels so strange, my head is light! I always wanted to know. This sensation, monsieur. I...I wanted to do this for a while, if you would indulge me. I mean, with my hand."

"Javert...your hand is on my head. Why?"

Light-headedness afflicted Victor now. He was completely lost and completely enthralled.

"It fits. You are such a powerful man...great authority, great voice, great strength, great physique...greatness on so many counts." Victor heard Javert's voice beginning to warble. "I am taller than you, but you are better than me. You are my s-superior, my stout leader in justice...you goaded me into your palm, and yet your head fits so perfectly under my palm. Ssssss-something about that..."

"Javert...I am not better than you."

"You are...!"

"N-No..."

Another pause, and a soft click. They were panting without restraint.

"... _I wish I were shorter_."

_...WHAT?!_

"W-W-Why would...Jav--Ja--!!!"

"Mon--Mons--"

Victor heard a muffled moan. One of them was buried in the shoulder of another. He stood there, statuesque, waiting for the shame washing his insides to corrode whatever held his feet to the floor. He was, objectively, a pervert. Subjectively, he was just trying to make sense of things. And right now, both subjectivity and objectivity told him to move away, but his legs would not obey him.

Victor was not ready for that. He tricked himself into thinking he was. He was wrong.

"Now, if you would stop hovering around the door, please fetch us some water."

"...I KNEW IT!"

Victor crumpled to the floor.

"...Hopeless boy."

"I have to agree. But at least he is not shameless."

"His one saving grace."

"...Why did you say you want to be shorter?"

"..."

"Javert."

"...I have absolutely no idea."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally managed an update! Sorry it took so long. I got distracted and discouraged and disciplined and other words that start with dis--. It took me a while to figure out this part, but I think I have it now, and I like it.
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr now, as I know some of you know. Does it count as a shameless plug if you aren't selling anything? I dunno...anyway. I do things on there. A prompt or two, your usual reblogs. I have a poem up there, too, although it's part of a reblog. Check it out, if you like. If you follow, I promise I won't spam your dash.
> 
> http://peter-yellowhammer.tumblr.com/

 

How clever was Madeleine le Maire!

Javert was halfway through bathing, finishing the first session of cleaning wherein he lathered his hair and skin in a pungent soap to cut through the grime collected upon both, and starting the final session of cleaning wherein he is using a tough rag to vigorously rub any excess grime and dead skin flakes off his person. Previously, he thought such attention to his hygiene was pointless, but the wise Madeleine pointed out to him how a perfectly clean form helps lead to a perfectly clean uniform. And both of those led to a more impressive presentation on patrol: no dandruff, no hint of disorganization, no weakness to exploit. It was a point well made; after all, the criminal mind is focused on small details for devious ends, and if a police spy could do so, then no reason stood for not doing it. So Javert was now glad to linger in the tub and drag a rough square of cloth across his form more than once. If he happened to soak in the warm water and relax a little, then that would perhaps be good for organizing the fragmented thoughts in his mind. Not that he had them.

_I said I wanted to be shorter..._

This supposedly fine soap really had a powerful smell. It was better than that urine-reminiscent medicine, but it still cut through the ignorable scents around it to assault his nostrils. No component that he recognized, unfortunately, probably due to him only having used one type of soap for his entire life, until now. Allegedly made of oil, but of what type Madeleine never said. Still, it was no wonder this variant of cleanser was discovered in the first place: it genuinely smelled like a substance that destroyed bodily odor. Soap from animal fat smelled mild in comparison, and perhaps that was telling. Why was he thinking about this?

_No one would want that. I am simply not used to that little death that overwhelmes me, so my mind warps. Still...of all the demented things to say._

The answer came to him before he finished asking himself the question: because Madeleine seemed interested in these details. Why? Because he always sounded fascinated when he talked about them.

_Soft and warm...tongue always brisk and elocuting easily, no excess saliva. No smacking of gums._

Something in the man's tone of voice made the most trivial nonsense sound relevant to anyone and everyone. Different types of soap became an exploration of how to improve one's appearance to different effects. Connotations for legal terminology became the backbone for the shape and motion of the Crown's hand over its people.

_Full of the weight of knowledge and persuasion, yet still carefree. Perhaps carefree because of that weight: he feels secure in what he knows._

Medicine became pampering and vice versa. Minor details of arguments diverged into new arguments, which looped back upon the details to form a...well, a loop. That was how Madeleine's mind worked: everything was connected in some weird way. To be perfectly honest, most of it was beyond Javert.

_He thinks I am connected to him. He has not admitted or explained this, but it has to be the case._

But he did realize over time what this exercise was supposed to mean for him: Javert was to make no judgments outside of the letter of the law. In order to respect his superiors and execute justice in truth, he had to act as an extension of the Code and nothing else: no unwarranted suspicion or hesitance, no emotion. He would leave the higher theory to those that made and deliberated the laws, and they would tell him if any law were to change.

_He is so wise. So knowledgeable. So strong in his decisions...I envy him. Disgusting, to crave what is beyond me. But he is wearing that down to dust. Yes, I can barely articulate what I feel anymore. Soon, I will want for nothing but my work. I will be a loyal servant once again._

The door of the bathroom opened to reveal none other than the devourer of his thoughts. Today, the devourer visited him with a small razor, a small cup that undoubtedly held shaving cream, and a rag.

"Monsieur le Maire, why do you want to shave me in the bath?"

Madeleine stared at him. Then Madeleine looked over him and around the room. What was the matter? For Madeleine to look so nonplussed and distracted, something must have gone wrong.

"Is there a problem? You seem ill at ease."

The mayor blinked and gave a bark of a laugh, then he just grinned. That grin! He was sated. He let his eyes drop from the mayor's handsome face, meaning they fixated upon--

"Not at all, Javert. Just something about today. I tend to see things differently every two weeks or so. As in, I notice details that I failed to notice before. For example, I noticed that Victor likes to read when you bathe because it keeps him from thinking about your nudity."

"What are you wearing?" Javert tried to simply scrub himself and ignore what was obvious, but that was the trouble with obvious things. The fine and dignified mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer was wearing tighter clothes, ones that wrapped around the contours of his form as if to flaunt them. His thights seemed larger; his chest even more pronounced and noticeable; his waist thicker, which held these enhanced marvels in proportion; and below his waist, his...and this was from the front. As dignified and fetching as he still looked, Madeleine must have dressed in an old set of clothes.

Madeleine just looked at him with a furrowed brow and responded: "What?"

"Your clothes. Those are not the same size as you usually wear."

_He still looks majestic, even with...by the Blue, I can hardly see anything else now. So prominent...! How did he not notice?_

The brow furrowed further: "...Javert, these are the same clothes I wore three days ago."

Javert shook his head. He knew a mistake when he saw one. Even Madeleine was not beyond mistakes, although it seemed that way sometimes. Yes, he seemed perfect. Javert had to seem perfect, to be perfect. It was the only way. He had to endure this luxury and emerge even more unyielding and stiff than ever before.

_Unyielding and stiff. Pointing straight at me, demanding that I perform adequately. Even as soft as it is now, it bulges, it threatens to tear the fabric if it hardens. That could not be comfortable; how could he not notice? It could burst right through and point at me again, brazenly naked...dripping its milk like a teat for a babe._

Madeleine chuckled, instantly bringing Javert's gaze back to his face. Thoughts of drinking salty, viscous milk still claimed his inner vision, in flashes and sounds of the act itself. His face felt hot. His tongue was weighted with saliva, pooling as if to greet and soften a large sausage.

"I assure you, Javert, that my clothes are not different in any way whatsoever." The mayor was smiling, with that gleam in his eye again. An odd gleam, unbefitting a magistrate, but--no, no, that was not right. He knew nothing of this class of men. Perhaps it was perfectly normal. No, it had to be normal. Otherwise, why would he deliberately pin his eyes upon Javert with that gleam, that...hungry, appraising glint? "I believe you are noticing details that you failed to notice before, just like I am! What a happy coincidence!"

Javert swallowed a small lake. But he was still thirsty.

"You mean to say your crotch is always so constrained?"

_Blunt. Unnecessary. Rude. Never again._

"Constrained?" Madeleine then, he, that is, he patted his crotch as, as if to test the validity of the idea. "I feel perfectly flexible, Inspector. No, I am sure of it now. You simply decided not to notice until I walked through the door. Oh!" Madeleine suddenly looked stricken with guilt. "Oh goodness, I forgot to knock. I am so sorry! This...this shaving business, it turned out to be more delicate than I imagined. Leon is not here, so I must do it this time. A-And just for the record, I was happy to do it then, until I saw how easy it would be to hurt you. Ah, my nerves! I almost forgot all that with you staring at my prick, Inspector!"

_Blunt. Unnecessary. Crude. Fair enough._

"I apologize." His voice dipped into a lower register for some reason.

"Oh, no no, Inspector, you are not at fault! I, ah...I am flattered you would want to do so. Perhaps I will wear smaller clothes. B-But nevertheless..."

Javert realized he was softly panting and forced deeper breaths into his lungs.

"...be better to do it with the bathwater. Your hair is already soft, the water is ready to use, and any accidents are easily cleaned. I feel this is the best option while I am still inexperienced." Madeleine sounded...embarrassed. He did not have to do any of this. Why would he care if Javert was nicked here or there? He had bled from worse.

...And there it was. Questioning. Analyzing what he would never understand. Pricks or no pricks, he had to let this attitude drown into the bathwater they would soon toss out the window. Speaking of which, he had just finished bathing. Javert showed Madeleine that he was ready by setting the rag on the farside rim of the tub.

"If that is how you feel, then I trust your judgment. One question." He had a question?

"Yes?"

Erm. "Um..." Why did he say that?! All he had to do was move his backside...oh. OH. "How...how do you want me to position myself?"

Madeleine started to blush profusely.

"...That is another matter. Erm. You will need to lay your weight upon your knees and palms, and push your rear toward the ceiling. I will, ah, shave your left cheek from his side, and then I will move to the left side to shave the right one."

The room only held the sound of bathwater sloshing and clashing in a porcelain tub. If only Javert had not jerked his shoulders back, which was odd but not important except for the fact that he did it, then the room would have been mercifully silent.

"Ah."

"I realize it is...unorthodox." Madeleine finally set the supplies upon the small drawer where Javert's towel rested (cotton, very pricy). "I did not anticipate doing something like this, not this soon, in any case. But this is the best way."

Another small lake to swallow.

"Of course."

He started shifting to assume the position as he let himself notice details that he did not notice before. Javert had registered how tepid the bathwater had become, but the currents of this tepidity now delivered in earnest the chilling effect they bore on his limbs. The water had not become that cold in that short span of time, so it could only be that Javert's temperature had increased. His skin was flush with blood, dripping with soapy water, and exposed. He had been naked in front of the mayor before, for medical reasons. He had even opened the fly of his trousers on behest of the mayor, in order to please him and to 'relax' as ordered. But this...this was altogether different. Javert was not just vulnerable. He was...

Accommodating.

Encouraging, by lack of protest.

Presenting not unlike a dog in heat.

Javert watched his hair below the water line in the tub, fraying and fanning in the slightly murky substance. He was used to having it tied up, or cut, or hidden. Now he barely took notice of his loose hair, especially with Madeleine in the room. Although Madeleine did enjoy feeling the "surprisingly soft texture" in those long fingers of his, whether gloved or nakedly showing the weathering of years of labor they endured. This was what occupied his mind now, even more than these discussions of theirs. He had come from silently fussing over a welt on his ass to pushing it, dripping wet and without complaint, into the streaming sunlight from the westward window in the second floor bathroom of the house of the mayor of the city named Montreuil-sur-Mer in the grand state of France.

And he liked it.

"Ah, you are...", slurred Madeleine, clearly out of nerves. Even someone as debauched as Madeleine could not ignore what Javert was communicating. Partly communicating. Implying. "I will be as quick as I can. I know I normally talk with you during any treatments, but...I really must stay quiet to concentrate."

His surgical wound did not hurt anymore. It was sealing nicely, only leaking the remnants of the incident. Nothing stopped him from shifting in the tub: initially to get comfortable, but he did not stop until he was sure his flesh had trembled and clapped against itself, and very obviously.

"Take as much time as you need."

He was shivering. Madeleine was honorable and decent, even in indecent situations. He could be expected to joke a little, maybe tease the patient, but he never made moves that were not explicitly requested. And this was how it should be. All the same...a horrifyingly gorgeous thought percolated in his brain, bypassing his limbs and torso for their associated reactions and diving straight for his groin. He twitched, flicking his cock to slap noiselessly against his stomach. Only then did the rest of him prickle and raise hairs in the ecstatic horror of this thought. Javert would never request it, but all the same...he started to wish that Madeleine would make a move without a cue.

That he would read the mind of a perverted inferior.

_...Madeleine really is wearing the same clothes he wore three days ago. I was looking at his body beneath the clothing._

Both of these thoughts rebounded off his come-weeping prick, magnifying with each corner of his mind that bounced them farther and further around his skull, as Madeleine took his left buttock into his lightly calloused left hand, spread it away from the ____, smeared his right hand in the shaving cream, slowly...softly lathered the chosen cheek for this moment, washed his hand in the bathwater, picked up the small razor, dipped it in the same water, and started to drag the metal across his skin.

_Do not do it._

Madeleine had mentioned two methods of emotional temperance in one of their discussions: imagining a happy (or at least not depressing) place to be and explore, or to reduce the event into base terms. Javert elected the latter: Madeleine was being careful in his procedure to not push the razor too quickly or too firmly against the caramel cake--erm, the buttock. Swift and yet gentle swipes to sever the offending hairs, thus preventing them from burrowing into the flesh and giving Javert yet another cyst. This was all medical. Madeleine adjusted his grip on Javert as needed.

_Do not move your hips. Be still. He is shaving you. Be patient and keep your hips still._

"Ah!" This was uttered by Madeleine, not Javert. Nicks were to be expected for such a tender area. Javert bore him no grievance whatsoever. Slither back, snake. Slither back to the hollow.

Madeleine was better than Madeleine claimed. Soon, all he had to do was pluck a few remaining, suspicious hairs on the left cheek (which helped Javert focus) and gather some lather for the other. Javert kept his gaze on the fanning strands of hair in the water, trying not to imagine how Madeleine's own buttocks were straining the fabric that covered them, or how that bulge on his crotch was lengthening and widening to allow a fat snake to slither and hiss from behind the finely-tailored trousers. A thick, tan snake with a prominent vein along his side, pulsing with blood. Amusingly wrinkled with folds of skin when asleep, yet flawlessly taut and proud when awake. A curious cord lining his belly that would undoubtedly press firmly against a bed of flesh: for example, a tongue. A tongue would also feel the (visually) striking snake's head, painted a furious violet to warn of a dangerous venom. But this tongue would proceed regardless to befriend the snake. A small lick to soothe its rage, to take its venom. Even if it led to death, Javert would lick and lap and stretch his lips apart to suckle on the snake's head and farther, as far as his gorge would allow, down toward the root--

"OW!"

"Ah, pardon!" Madeleine's voice cut through his stupor and compelled him to raise his neck, no matter how stiff this would make him later. "But I have plucked the last one. All done! And no second nick, what a relief--"

Javert had two blows to his sanity in a short span of time. The first was admitting the shame and carelessness of fantasizing about the Sieur le Maire's snake--er, endowment. The second was, however, the more shocking of the two: the good and noble Madeleine carelessly dropped his fingers toward the floor and inadvertently slipped a finger into the ____.

Madeleine instantly removed it, walked over to the rag, wiped the razor, dropped the razor on the drawer as he turned to Javert, carefully yet quickly dabbed the undoubtedly trickling blood from the nick, mumbled an apology, cupped some bathwater with his free hand to pour on the sullied ring finger, wiped it on the rag, and started to walk for the door when Javert found himself grabbing his dear mayor's arm.

"There is no need to rush."

Madeleine looked like a first-time thief who was caught with a loaf of bread. Eyes wide with fear and wanting to flee for wherever he could. But Javert's words thankfully calmed him enough to make him stay.

"I am terribly sorry...that, that was--"

"Blunt. Unnecessary. Clumsy."

"...All of those things."

The room was filled with the sound of clashing and dripping water as Javert climbed out of the tub and grabbed the offending hand. He watched himself place the naughty hand on his wet rump and understood that the long, dark snake from his own hollow had eaten his brain whole. Madeleine's brain had also been consumed. This was no crime, however: snakes eat large game as part of their nature. And his snake was searching for a hunting partner. Yes...so many new details he had failed to notice. This was fine. Social status had no bearing on this very specific moment.

"J-Javert."

"Monsieur le Maire."

Javert watched Madeleine raise his right hand and pull his head down to him. Javert obeyed and parted his lips for their tongues to meet and embrace. A shame he wasn't embracing that proud snake, but all in good time.

The kiss was broken, and Madeleine lowered his hand to clasp the unattended cheek. Javert looked down on the man and puzzled in the sight: the mayor's hands were reaching around him to completely cup his rump, and the mayor looked troubled.

_I wish that I were shorter._

"You are not ready."

"For what?"

"...I want to do it so desperately. I dream about it. But I would hurt you."

Javert chuckled. His head rattled with the sound, now void of brain. He had no use of it, and so he forfeited it to whichever of these lewd snakes would take it. And this was by design.

"You are impatient. And your hand will suffice for now."

Madeleine gaped at him. Even as Javert led Madeleine's hand toward his violated burrow, Madeleine could not seem to cope with the idea of being allowed to return to it. Was it because he was Javert?

_I...I think I am starting to understand why I said that._

"I wish I had known this side of you sooner. You have no idea how much I wish it."

_The idea is still insane. But right now...right now, it strikes a chord. It sounds like it could make sense._

"I have no idea? Then, as you say, let us go deeper on the matter."

_To know an insane idea is to be insane yourself._

Another kiss.

_In this, I will be insane._

"Get back in the tub."

_All my weakness and perversion will rest on this moment. And Madeleine le Maire will rest his with me._

"Yes, monsieur."

_In this, I will be insane. In the law, I will be sanity incarnate._


End file.
